


do you believe in magic

by vtforpedro



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Gellert Grindelwald, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, No obscurus, Protective Original Percival Graves, it's mild though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 59,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24413458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which Percival Graves helps the Barebones find freedom and finds something for himself along the way.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 44
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

“Mister Graves, sir?”  
  
“Goldstein?”  
  
“I, er… have a favor to ask.”  
  
“Those are my least favorite words, Goldstein.”  
  
“I know, sir,” Tina sighs as she wrings her hands and steps further into his office. “I’ve tried everyone else.”  
  
Graves glances up at her from over the stack of parchment paper that’s nearly level with his forehead. He squints at her for a while before he lifts a piece of parchment and examines it.  
  
“You mean you’ve tried all of your peers, exhausted your options, and think I’m the one that’s going to be bailing you out?”  
  
Tina sighs. “Well, you did schedule my three day Defense certification in the middle of a week full of stakeouts,” she mumbles.  
  
“I did what?” Graves barks and drops the parchment to fish around for his Aurors’ schedules. It takes an _accio_ to find Tina’s and he gestures angrily at it. “You had three weeks free and you didn’t do it then?”  
  
“I was in Transylvania for those three weeks, sir,” Tina says blandly. “Which you also scheduled me for. I told you my sister could help with organization…”  
  
“Another Goldstein,” Graves mutters darkly as he sees his hastily scrawled note of _Transylvania_ by her name. “If you hadn’t been in Transylvania, you would have already been done with the certification.”  
  
When he looks up at her, he sees that she’s got her arms crossed and an eyebrow arched, tapping her shoe on the floor.  
  
“Well,” Graves says and sighs. “I suppose that was my doing. This certification came at the worst time, you know, I would have put it off if a higher power hadn’t forced my hand. The no-maj prohibition is keeping us busy enough. Especially right now.” He scowls. _“Holidays.”_  
  
“I know how much Christmas inconveniences you, sir,” Tina says, trying and failing to keep amusement out of her voice. “But if you want the Second Salemers Church to continue to have round the clock observation, someone else will have to be assigned to it during my shift.”  
  
Graves runs his hands through his hair. “You want me,” he says slowly, “to abandon all of this?” He gestures at the frankly absurd amount of paperwork on his desk and the steadily building stacks on the ground.  
  
Tina shrugs. “When was the last time you were out in the field?”  
  
Two months, seven days and eight hours, but he’s not counting.  
  
“I don’t think my being out in the field compares to standing across the street from a church and making sure a no-maj doesn’t cause too much disruption for the evening.”  
  
“It’s not just disruption anymore, sir,” Tina sighs. “She’s enlisting children to spy on the population in search of witches and wizards.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“We’ve had to Obliviate four kids so far and arrest two wizards for flagrant statute-breaking.”  
  
Graves leans back in his chair and stares up at the ceiling for a while. He’s sure that report is buried somewhere nearby. This is junior Auror territory, Tina’s territory, until she moves up the ranks sometime next year, he’s already decided. He hasn’t staked out anyone but the most evil and dark wizards in a very… _very_ long time, and he isn’t looking forward to it now.  
  
But he supposes he put himself in this mess. He’s normally meticulous with his schedules but the end of the year - and the damn _holidays_ \- always makes things a bit hectic. The wizarding world tends to forget that they’re meant to be in hiding when they’ve got a bit of holiday spirit in them. The no-maj prohibition has turned it more sinister, now, with certain enterprising individuals taking advantage of no-majs trying to find alcohol or distribute it.  
  
He thinks he must have over a dozen offenders downstairs from one single operation that tracked down who was selling firewhiskey by the barrel and causing no-majs to wreak havoc in Queens.  
  
“Don’t you fucking step one more foot into this room, Abagnale!” Graves shouts as he points his finger in the general direction of not his office.  
  
Abagnale freezes, a large stack of reports in his arms and hastily backs out, closing the door behind him.  
  
“File this mess,” Graves says as he gestures at the papers. “Get your sister up here to help, but redact what you need to first, keep her out of your head. You have…” He picks up the schedule again. “Two days before your certification course starts. High priority to low priority and if I see any, _any_ reports in here that could have been signed off by Fontaine, I will take great pleasure in setting them on fire.”  
  
Tina is bouncing with joy, biting her knuckle as she grins at him. “Thank you, sir!” she says and whips out a file from who knows where. She drops it on his desk, opening it. “This is the information I’ve gathered so far on the church…”  
  
Graves groans.  
  
——  
  
The first day that he observes the church, Graves takes note of the routine for himself. Feeding orphans, handing out fliers, and the first of three weekly meetings. Tuesday’s meeting is at a quarter past seven and Graves lounges against the side of a building across the street.  
  
He’s periodically reheating his coffee in a paper cup to keep his hands warm. The no-maj outfit he’s in, buried deep in his closet and dug out with the utmost of disapproval, is warm but not nearly as fine of quality as the clothes he normally wears. It’s Pike Street, after all, not Fifth Avenue.  
  
Graves watches the familiar faces from Tina’s files. The radical church leader, Mary Lou Barebone, and her three adopted children. The youngest seems normal, as far as young girls go, but the older one peers up and down the street with suspicion and corrects the rest of the children with a harshness he doesn’t have to wonder who she got it from.  
  
The oldest one, the boy, is nineteen, soon to be twenty. A man, really, but from Graves’ brief glimpse of him, still molded under his mother’s grasp.  
  
Miss Barebone’s kindness to the orphaned children seems sickly sweet, but he watches as her son seems to fold in on himself whenever she comes near. He stands straighter, more sure, when she’s not there, and smiles at the youngest children.  
  
Graves is disturbed by it, but he’s disturbed by these radicalized no-majs often enough. It isn’t as if they've never caused harm - heralding that the end is nigh and witches are at fault for it has led to bloodshed and burnings, old bloodlines ruined for the sake of the no-majs Christian faith.  
  
It’s why MACUSA takes it seriously, and the Second Salemers, in particular, when they showed up on MACUSA’s doorstep.  
  
He watches as the meeting ends and the few churchgoers who have been blinded by Barebone’s incessant fanaticism leave. The eldest, Credence, Graves remembers, shows them out, reminding them to come back the next evening.  
  
He watches them go and then looks across the street, right at Graves, and Graves stares back at him, sipping his coffee.  
  
Credence looks… timid, suspicious, but there’s something else about him too, something that tells Graves he has more than his mother’s religion filling his brain.  
  
Graves knows the eyes of predators and he knows the eyes of prey. When Miss Barebone appears behind Credence and touches his shoulder, Graves watches as he flinches and hunches over, expecting a blow, whispered in his ear or lashed across his back.  
  
Credence’s eyes are those of prey.  
  
And yet, when his mother hadn’t been there, and he had been looking at Graves, there had been a spark in them. Perhaps not the desire to become a predator, but the desire to not be prey any longer. The hunger for it.  
  
Graves remembers that feeling all too well.  
  
He stays until midnight and Disapparates back to his high rise apartment. The silk bed sheets feel particularly divine after a long night of nothing interesting at all and yet he finds he cannot sleep, staring up at the dark canopy above, a vague disquiet in the back of his mind.  
  
——  
  
The next day goes by in much the same way. A few of the orphans attempt to hand him pamphlets and he takes one, rejecting the others. He’s already seen the fliers and pamphlets in Tina’s file, but he flips through it again, frowning in distaste.  
  
He doesn’t know what makes a no-maj fanatical. When they’ve brought them into custody before, to interview them before they alter their memory, they always seem to have a story about witnessing witchcraft - or someone in their long, _pure_ line of ancestors witnessing it anyway.  
  
Most of it is nonsense, but now and then there are credible leads to follow up on.  
  
 _Hell is Near at Hand!_  
  
Graves huffs a little. “Much closer than you think, Miss Barebone,” he mutters and stuffs the pamphlet into his pocket.  
  
After he has eaten a meager meal of a hot dog and more stale coffee, and shortly before the second meeting of the week is set to take place, Credence Barebone emerges from the church.  
  
He walks across the street, head bowed down, hands in tight fists at his sides. Everything about him screams submission - submission beaten into him, body and mind - and Graves feels irrationally angry for a brief moment, wondering what the church might look like with a well-placed _Reducto_ curse.  
  
But he forgets his anger as Credence approaches him, another damn pamphlet appearing in his hands. He stops near to Graves and shuffles his feet before clearing his throat.  
  
“A New Salem Philanthropic Society meeting is about to take place, sir,” he says, his voice quiet and soft, but betraying his actual age. Not the age his mother seems content to make him look, but the nearly-twenty year old man he is. “I saw your interest and thought you would like to hear the Word yourself.”  
  
Graves looks Credence over from head to toe. He’s not dressed warmly enough for early December and he’s trembling with the cold and with something else. Graves looks at the pamphlet, then at Credence’s face.  
  
“You’re bleeding,” he says quietly.  
  
Credence goes very still, his breathing sharp and shallow now, and looks at the pamphlet in his hands, smudges of blood visible where his palms have brushed against the paper.  
  
“I…” Credence says, the faintest hint of panic seeping into his voice. “I apologize, sir, that was foolish of me, I forgot to wrap my hand after an accident cutting vegetables for dinner.”  
  
Graves peers at him, the fear he can see, keeping Credence’s body taut, preparing to flee.  
  
“Let me see your hand.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Let’s wash that blood off.”  
  
Credence blinks quickly and seems to be debating making a sprint back for the church. It takes him a long while, and Graves doesn’t rush him, before he finally peels his hand off of the pamphlet and holds it out to Graves, shaking.  
  
It’s not hard to see the shape of a belt buckle in the welt on Credence’s palm, cracked and dried, but gently seeping blood. It’s a new wound on top of a days old one and Graves understands now why Tina had spoken with such heartache when it came to Credence Barebone.  
  
He keeps his hand over the top of his coffee cup until the liquid inside turns into cool water and he reaches into his coat to fetch his handkerchief. He dips it in the water and gently dabs at the wound, listening to Credence’s uneven breathing.  
  
“The other one now,” Graves says, once he has cleaned off the blood and stopped the bleeding.  
  
“It was… it was only this one, sir, please, you shouldn’t… I have to get back.”  
  
“In a moment,” Graves says. “We’ll both go. I haven’t heard the… Word in a long time. Give me the pamphlet and your hand. Please.”  
  
“You’ll come?” Credence asks, briefly meeting Graves’ eyes before he’s looking away again. He hands over the pamphlet and Graves stuffs it in his pocket before gently taking Credence’s proffered hand.  
  
Graves wonders how Miss Barebone would like it if someone repaid the favor. If someone lashed her hands, lashed her legs and her back, the way Graves suspects she has done to Credence, and left scars that will never truly fade. He cleans this hand too, studying the scarring and suspects this has been going on for many years.  
  
“I find the Second Salem Church very interesting,” Graves says. “And it must be warmer in there than out here.”  
  
“Not really,” Credence mutters, then quickly looks around, as if he suspects his mother to appear at his side, belt in hand. “But we serve hot tea.”  
  
“What’s a sermon without hot tea?”  
  
Credence furrows his brow and looks up at Graves, as if he doesn’t know if he’s joking or mocking him, and if he should take it as an insult or not.  
  
“I hear Catholics eat Jesus every Sunday.”  
  
Credence’s mouth falls open in surprise before he’s pursing his lips to fight an obvious smile, looking down at his shoes and shaking his head. “That’s blasphemy, sir. It’s called communion.”  
  
“See,” Graves says as he claps Credence gently on the shoulder. “You’ve taught me something already. Let’s see what else you and the Second Salemers can enlighten me to.”

Credence nods and whispers, “Thank you.”  
  
They set off across the street and Graves stays a step behind Credence, watching as he steadily becomes more folded in on himself the closer they get to his home. It makes his stomach churn unpleasantly and anger courses through his veins. He’s seen the worst of what his own world is capable of, has experienced it himself, but there’s something more insidious to him about no-majs inflicting pain on each other.  
  
Pain they can’t readily heal, pain they can’t take a potion for or even alter their memories for, in some extreme cases.  
  
The memory will always be there, the scarring, and he aches in a way he usually doesn’t, not even for the unfortunate wizards or witches who have been on the wrong end of an illegal curse.  
  
Credence shows him into the church as a few other patrons stream inside and he looks around with distaste. _Church_ is hardly what he’d call it, but Barebone doesn’t care about wealth or comfort, only bending people to her will.  
  
He sees her then, standing behind a table, her hands gently clasped in front of her, smiling benevolently at everyone, her daughters at her side. But she sees Credence then and Graves himself and it amazes him that no one in the room can see the evil shutter over her eyes.  
  
No one but Graves and her own children, he supposes.  
  
Credence breaks away quickly, as if standing near Graves could be considered a sin, and perhaps it can be, as Graves watches Miss Barebone trace her son's movements with a blank stare. It’s gone quickly enough, replaced by her smile, and Graves sits at one of the tables near the back to observe.  
  
Tina has already done so and she had shuddered when she recounted the experience and Graves empathizes with that feeling, once Miss Barebone gets to talking. He listens for the meaning behind her words, for what she really knows and for what she’s really after, and by the time she’s halfway done with her sermon, he’s in agreement with Tina’s assessment.  
  
Miss Barebone knows about the wizarding world, in some way. She clearly doesn’t understand it, but she knows it exists, and he wonders how that came to be. A relative, a friend, something she witnessed herself? Or maybe...  
  
He looks at her children. The youngest isn’t old enough yet, the middle one, possibly, but his eyes linger on Credence. It’s not hard to guess who has it the worst among the Barebone children and he wonders, wonders if it might be possible.  
  
If it is, there is no _Credence Barebone_ registered at MACUSA, but that’s not so surprising.  
  
Credence looks at him now and then and Graves meets his gaze levelly, sees the plea in his eyes that he doubts Credence knows is there, and tries to push away the kinship he feels. He wants to tell Credence _I know, I know it well, I know the fear, I know the pain, I know it all. It can get better, if you don’t let them kill you first. Not just your body, but your mind too. I know, Credence._  
  
Miss Barebone singles him out at some point, crooning sweetly about new faces, and he tells her _I’m interested in what you have to say, ma’am,_ but she doesn’t buy it. He knew she wouldn’t. She’s too cunning for it, too evil, and she plays this game every day of her life.  
  
Graves sees Credence realize it, realize that his mother thinks Graves is _other,_ realize that he brought him here, realize he will be punished for it.  
  
So Graves will make sure that doesn’t happen.  
  
When the sermon is over and everyone is drinking hot tea, brewed so weakly it’s mostly hot water, Graves mingles and listens to the no-majs speak about the evil of witches and what they plan to do to take over the world. Some are passionate about it, while others merely pretend they are, looking for some place to belong in this bustling, but lonely city.  
  
The meeting ends and Graves sees that Credence is watching him again, hidden behind his mother and sisters, where he can lift his gaze and not worry about who may see.  
  
Graves leaves and takes up his place across the street to continue watching the church. He waits until the lights dim and the streets become less crowded before he returns to the church and waits, leaning near a window that isn’t properly sealed to the wall, letting the cold air in.  
  
It doesn’t take long.  
  
“Why did you bring that man here, Credence?”  
  
“I… he seemed interested in the church,” Credence’s soft, frightened voice answers, with an attempt to placate. “He accepted a pamphlet earlier. I thought he would like to hear the Word.”  
  
“I’ve taught you who we accept and who we don’t. It’s dangerous to bring a man like that here, Credence.”  
  
There’s silence for a while, before Credence asks, very quietly, “Dangerous?”  
  
“Oh, yes. Riffraff like him wish to take advantage of our kindness. You know this.”  
  
Silence again, that seems to stretch into the long, dark hour of the night. “I’m sorry, Ma—”  
  
“Your belt, Credence. Your shirt,” Miss Barebone says, without a hint of emotion, betraying nothing. As if the situation is unimportant, merely a routine, but Graves knows the sort of pleasure she gets out of it. “No, not inside tonight.”  
  
Graves frowns. Another punishment, he supposes, beating Credence while he’s half-clothed in rags in the December cold. He wonders if she plans on leaving him out here after and grimly thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised by it. But it makes things a bit easier for him and he walks around the lot, until he can peer around the corner and watch Mary Lou Barebone escort Credence outside, with only the light of the moon to guide them.  
  
She’s holding Credence’s belt and when she gives it a crack against her own palm, Credence flinches and falls to his knees and Graves may or may not see red as he begins to stalk toward her.  
  
She lifts the belt in the air for the first lash and Graves holds out his hand. The belt wriggles out of her grasp and shoots across the lot into his own hand. He drops it on the ground as Miss Barebone gasps and whirls around, looking at him. Credence is still bowed over, waiting for his divine punishment.  
  
“You,” she hisses. “An abomination.”  
  
Credence looks up now and over his shoulder, his eyes wide.  
  
“I’ve certainly been called worse,” Graves says as he approaches casually. “Miss Barebone, I do believe this breaks some sort of no-maj law.”  
  
Her eyes flash with malice. “You see, Credence?” she whispers. “They walk among us. They wish to dominate us and make us their slaves.”  
  
“Frankly, Miss Barebone, you aren’t that appealing,” Graves says as he pulls his wand from his pocket and points it at her.  
  
Her eyes go wide and her mien turns ugly, evil the way she is at heart, and she snarls, _“Witch!”_  
  
“Wizard, preferably,” Graves says and flicks his wand.  
  
Mary Lou Barebone goes very stiff, like a statue, and Graves takes great satisfaction in watching her collapse face first into the gravel. He points his wand at her again and erases the memory of the last hour, but leaves her incapcitated for now.  
  
When he looks at Credence, whose eyes are wide and fearful, staring up at him with his mouth open, he understands why he scrambles away from him, but it’s still a pang in his heart.  
  
“You killed her,” Credence says, his voice breaking with panic.  
  
“Hardly,” Graves mutters. “She’ll be fine, Credence, in an hour or so when it wears off.”  
  
“You’re a witch,” Credence says, pulling his knees to his chest and bowing his head, hiding. “She was right.”  
  
“The only thing your mother was right about is that there are witches and wizards in this world, Credence,” he says as he approaches him. Credence doesn’t back further away, so Graves cautiously kneels next to him. “She was wrong about everything else. Including you. Will you look at me?”  
  
It takes Credence a while but he does eventually lift his gaze and meet Graves’ eyes.  
  
“My world keeps itself hidden because of people like your mother,” he says softly. “You know what she is.”  
  
Credence winces but he nods nonetheless. “Who are you?”  
  
“Percival Graves,” Graves says and holds his hand out. “Will you take my hand?”  
  
“She’s not dead?”  
  
“I assure you she is perfectly well. Her face might bruise from the unfortunate way she landed on it, but she will be fine.”  
  
Credence glances at his mother lying prone some feet away and flinches again. He turns his head away and carefully reaches out his hand, taking Graves’.  
  
Graves helps Credence to his feet and peels off his own coat, draping it over his bony shoulders. He can see some scars on his arms and chest and grits his teeth, thinking what a shame it is that he can’t jail Miss Barebone himself, forbidden from interfering in no-maj law-breaking.  
  
“She’s going to be angry when she wakes,” Credence says, already fearing another punishment.  
  
“Possibly. She won’t remember what she meant to do to you,” Graves says as he sneers down at Miss Barebone. “But I’d like to help you, Credence.”  
  
“Help me?”  
  
“I’m a rather important man. I can help you get away from this place.”  
  
“I can’t,” Credence says, soft and broken.  
  
“And why not?”  
  
“My sister,” Credence says and glances back at the church. “Modesty. If Ma can’t find me, she’ll turn to her.”  
  
Graves frowns for a while before he sighs. “Then she’ll be helped as well,” he says and pulls out his wand. He points it toward the sky and a white mist begins to glow at the end of it before his Patronus leaps to life, falling silently onto the gravel below. Its great, white eyes gleam as they look at Graves. “Fontaine. Second Salemers church. Bring your best and evaluate the youngest Barebone for abilities and find placement for her after in MACUSA. Assure her that her brother will be joining her soon. Do your best not to frighten the child and follow procedure as needed for the other girl. Miss Barebone is behind the church awaiting your arrival.”  
  
The Patronus opens its mouth in a silent roar before it dashes through the yard and disappears as it leaps over the fence.  
  
“Satisfactory?” Graves asks as he looks at Credence and offers his hand again.  
  
Credence is gaping at where the Patronus disappeared. “Was that a lion?” he asks weakly.  
  
“It was a Patronus,” Graves says and smiles a little as Credence peers at him in confusion. “I’ll explain everything, but I would rather not do so here. Your sister will be safe. Will you take my hand?”  
  
Credence wraps the coat tighter around himself, looking between Graves, his mother’s prone figure on the ground, and Graves’ hand. He straightens his spine and nods, gently taking it.  
  
Graves leads Credence around the church and nods at Fontaine, Wilkinson, and Jauncey as they pass, heading for the doors. Credence watches them with worry and Graves squeezes his hand until he looks at him again.  
  
“Your sister might be frightened for a while, but it’s what’s for the best. You’ll see her in a few hours. And, if at the end of all of this, you decide you would rather be back in the church with your sisters and your mother, then that’s what will happen. But for now, you and I need to have a discussion.”  
  
“Will I be punished?”  
  
Graves stares at Credence for a while, his heart aching for the young man, for what he suspects must always be around the corner. He puts his hand on Credence’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly.  
  
“Never again, I hope, and certainly not by me.”  
  
Credence holds his gaze for a while before he nods, looking at his shoes, a tremble in his body that Graves hopes might be eased by the fireplace in his office. They walk to MACUSA, which isn’t far from the church, and when they enter, Graves is glad for the late hour.  
  
He thinks that he would not have done Credence any favors bringing him in when MACUSA is bustling with wizards and witches going about their work. It’s quiet now, with only a few MACUSA employees still at work, and they don’t give Credence anything more than a cursory glance while nodding respectfully to Graves.  
  
Credence stares at the mops that clean the floors by themselves and mumbles, “I’m dreaming.”  
  
“Fortunately not,” Graves says as he takes Credence to the lift. It’s not being manned by Red and Graves is thankful for that, as he likely wouldn’t have remembered to warn Credence anyway.  
  
When they’re on Graves’ floor, he guides Credence to the Aurors’ offices and steps inside. The night shift is here, working diligently, and they mumble various greetings to Graves as he passes them.  
  
“Someone wake up Weiss,” Graves sighs as he opens the door to his office and ushers Credence inside. There’s a loud bang, followed by a grunt of pain, before Graves closes the door and silences any noise from outside.  
  
He lights a fire and pushes a chair in front of the fireplace, sitting a dazed Credence in front of it. He writes a memo and sends it on its way before he drags his own chair next to Credence’s and sits down.  
  
“You’ve been here all this time,” Credence mutters, hunched closer to the fire. “We tried to find followers just outside.”  
  
“We know,” Graves says. “We’ve kept an eye on the Second Salemers for a long time now.”  
  
“I’ve never seen you before, Mister Graves.”  
  
“You wouldn’t have. I’m normally in here, dealing with paperwork, or worrying about people a lot more threatening than Mary Lou Barebone could ever wish to be. But there have been Aurors from my office watching.”  
  
“Aurors?” Credence asks, the word heavy in his mouth.  
  
“Magical law enforcement.”  
  
Credence frowns as he glances at Graves. “Police officers?”  
  
“If you’d like. Aurors are the best defense against practitioners of the Dark Arts. Wizards who choose to break the law by practicing illegal magic,” Graves clarifies and smiles faintly as Credence furrows his brow. “I’m afraid there are people with ill intentions in every world.”  
  
Credence nods, understanding that, at least. “You’re nothing like Ma said you’d be. I suspected that… that if there were witches, they wouldn’t be what she said. I’ve seen evil, Mister Graves, but none that carried a wand.”  
  
Graves observes Credence for a while. He knows that Credence isn’t a stupid man - he’s well aware he’s _experienced_ evil himself, not just seen it, but something tells Graves that Credence thinks he deserved it in some way. That it was a higher power deciding his punishments and Mary Lou was merely the vessel through which they were delivered. He won’t ever truly understand no-majs, but he does resent them for this, for the damage they cause to innocent souls.  
  
“How old were you when you were adopted?”  
  
“Seven,” Credence says quietly.  
  
More than a decade of it, then. Graves sighs as he leans back in his chair and stares at the fire. “When did the punishments start?”  
  
Credence doesn’t answer for a while, wringing his hands together in his lap. “Ma has… she has always seen the wickedness in me, but she… she didn’t try to banish it from me until I was eleven.”  
  
“There’s no wickedness in you, Credence.”  
  
“Yes there is, Mister Graves.”  
  
“Credence,” Graves says. “Look at me.”  
  
Credence looks pained, his eyebrows knitted together, but he does eventually look at Graves and the hurt in his eyes nearly takes his breath away.  
  
“You are not wicked,” Graves says firmly. “It wasn’t her place to decide that. And it’s not your burden to carry.”  
  
There’s a shine to Credence’s eyes. “I have wicked thoughts.”  
  
“An unfortunate condition of being human.”  
  
Credence shakes his head. “No, it’s… it’s more than that. She sees it in me, she knows the things I think, the things I want… she’s right about me. My soul is black.”  
  
“By her definition,” Graves says. “Not anyone else’s.”  
  
Credence doesn’t reply to that, looking at the fire instead, and flinching when there’s a soft knock at Graves’ door.  
  
He flicks his wand to unlock it and the night shift’s office assistant, Gertrude, enters. She’s carrying a silver tray and smiles at Graves and Credence as she sets it on the desk.  
  
“Anything else, sirs?”  
  
“No, thank you, Trudy.”  
  
When she has gone and he has locked the door again, Graves grabs a warm mug of butterbeer and a plate of various pastries and hands them to Credence. He looks worried, as if he thinks they might try to poison him yet, and Graves waits patiently for hunger to win out.  
  
It does, eventually, and he watches Credence sip the butterbeer until his shoulders begin to droop and the lines of tension in his forehead ease. He glances at the mug suspiciously now and then and Graves chuckles.  
  
“It’s only butterbeer. Something to chase away the cold.”  
  
“Is there alcohol in it?”  
  
“Only enough to send house elves swooning.”  
  
Credence gives Graves a long look out of the corner of his eye, as if suspecting that he’s making fun of him in some way, and Graves wonders how long it might take for Credence to trust someone again. He doesn’t know how much time he will be spending with the young man but some part of him, buried deep down, wants to keep Credence close by.  
  
He doesn’t particularly want to examine why that is, whether it is the kinship he feels, or something more. Something more dangerous and foolish.  
  
“What abilities are you evaluating Modesty for?”  
  
Graves raises his eyebrows. “Magical, of course.”  
  
Credence frowns. “She’s not a witch.”  
  
“No, you might not recognize her as one, if she is. She’s rather young,” Graves says. “Sometimes you get glimpses here and there, from young witches and wizards, if they’re born to non-magical parents. Many don’t know until they receive their letter from Ilvermorny.”  
  
“Ilvermorny,” Credence says flatly.  
  
Graves laughs. “A respected wizarding school, you know,” he says. “Children receive their letters on their eleventh birthday.”  
  
Credence doesn’t move for a while, before it seems to settle in his mind, and he jerks a little, some butterbeer sloshing out of his mug. He looks at Graves, his mouth hanging open and Graves shrugs.  
  
“I’ve got my suspicions.”  
  
“But… but…” Credence stammers. “I’m not, I can’t be. That… that would make me…”  
  
“It would make you perfectly normal, Credence, in our world,” Graves says and reaches over, laying his hand on Credence’s wrist. “And nothing to be ashamed of. Certainly not wicked.”  
  
Credence looks on the verge of panic for a while and guzzles down the butterbeer until it’s gone. Graves hands him the second mug still steaming with warmth and waits patiently for him to regain some calm and to stop trembling.  
  
“Do you remember the surname you were born with?”  
  
“No,” Credence croaks. “I was given to the orphanage without any name at all.”  
  
Graves frowns. If what he suspects about Credence is true, that will make it harder to track down his bloodline, his real family, but there are still ways it can be done. He rests his chin in his hand as he watches Credence eat and drink his first meal in the wizarding world and wonders what Seraphina will approve of, if Credence is a wizard. She might give him leave to set Credence up with a stipend, enough for him and his sister, if he wants it, but something about that idea leaves a sour taste in Graves’ mouth.  
  
He doesn’t like the idea of throwing Credence out into the world without any preparation, to take care of his sister, when they are both likely damaged and will need guidance. Credence has been under his mother’s fist for most of his life and Graves doubts that he would know what to do with himself, given a monthly stipend and a place to live. He’ll need to be taught about their world, _his_ world, and he’ll need to get a wand and learn how to use it.  
  
There are agencies that can help, including a few in MACUSA, but Graves feels his hackles rise at the thought of anyone else guiding Credence through all of this.  
  
He can only imagine what Seraphina will have to say about it.  
  
“Mister Graves?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“You’re staring.”  
  
“Forgive me, I am. You’re a singularly unique person, Credence.”  
  
Credence flushes red in the firelight and tips back the butterbeer. Once he has wiped the foam from his mouth, he shakes his head. “I’m not. I’m…” he trails off and looks to be floundering for a word. “Boring.”  
  
Graves laughs. “That is the one thing you are not,” he says and smirks as Credence shoots him a suspicious glance. “How do you feel about finding out if you’re a wizard?”  
  
Credence opens his mouth, then closes it, swallowing. “Is it a test? I’m not… I’m not very skilled with penmanship.”  
  
“It’s a good thing I’m not going to ask you to write anything then,” Graves says and stands.  
  
He opens one of the drawers in his desk after unlocking it and rummages through a few spare wands, confiscated a long while ago and deemed safe to use. Every Auror has a drawer full of wands for a variety of reasons and Graves takes great joy in ensuring those drawers are locked once or twice a month, lest they become _his_ wands.  
  
“Aha,” he says as he pulls out a light brown, squat wand. “This was confiscated off a man who wouldn’t stop trying to introduce Horklumps into New York and Hodags into Europe.” He frowns. “I don’t know what he got out of it, honestly.”  
  
Credence is staring at him. “Are you teasing me?”  
  
Graves blinks for a while. “No,” he says slowly. “Ah. I suppose you’ve never seen a Hodag, have you? That only means MACUSA is doing its job. Anyway, the wand wasn’t used for any nefarious purposes beyond that.”  
  
He hands it to Credence, who leans back as far as he can go in his chair away from it. “Mister Graves, I can’t,” he says fearfully. “I don’t know how.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Graves says more gently. “You don’t have to know how to use it. It won’t harm you, Credence. It’s merely a tool for the magic in your veins. And I’m here. Nothing bad will happen.”  
  
“What if I do to you what you did to Ma?” Credence asks and looks a bit green at the idea of it.  
  
“Well, you don’t know what spell I used, so I’m not too concerned,” Graves says and smiles reassuringly. “When children go to the wandmaker for the first time, he gives them a wand he thinks might choose them. The only way to know is by holding it. That’s all.”  
  
Credence looks like he wishes he had another mug of butterbeer. He takes in a few deep breaths before he nods and sits up straighter. Graves hands him the wand again and he takes it, his hand shaking so wildly Graves is concerned he’ll drop it first. But he doesn’t, tightening his fingers around the wood until his knuckles are white.  
  
“Nothing happened,” Credence says with a sigh of relief.  
  
Graves chuckles. “It’s not your wand,” he says. “It’s only going to respond to a spell and I’m going to give you the most simple spell we have and arguably the most useful.”  
  
Credence looks wary again. “I’m going to mess it up.”  
  
“I promise you won’t,” Graves says and pulls out his own wand. He holds it out and raises his eyebrows until Credence does the same thing with the wand in his hand. _“Lumos,”_ Graves says quietly, the tip of his wand glowing with a bright light.  
  
Credence stares at it, his mouth open and eyes wide.  
  
“It’s just light. Light to guide you through the dark. It can’t harm you,” Graves says. “Try it yourself.”  
  
Credence looks at the wand he’s holding and clears his throat a few times. “Lu-Lumos,” he stammers and glances at Graves when nothing happens, a disappointment in his eyes that he tries to hide.  
  
“Like you mean it,” Graves says with a smirk.  
  
With a frown, first at Graves, then at the wand, Credence furrows his brow, and then speaks clearly, _“Lumos.”_  
  
The tip of the wand glows with the gentle white light of the spell and Graves smiles broadly, his heart hammering in his chest, with relief and with pride, and something else that’s familiar, but he can’t name.  
  
Credence stares at the wand, shaking lightly in his grasp, his eyes wide and his lips parted. He looks overwhelmed, not so surprising, but when he looks at Graves with tears in his eyes, Graves doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.  
  
He doesn’t know if it’s because Credence feels it. Feels that it’s right, that this is where he belongs, as so many young no-maj-born wizards feel when they hold their wands. Or if Mary Lou has corrupted Credence enough that he can’t feel it, that Graves has only reinforced the belief Credence has that he is wicked in some way.  
  
“Credence,” Graves says quietly and ignores the itch in his hand when a few tears fall from Credence’s eyes.  
  
“It’s beautiful, Mister Graves,” Credence says. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Graves has to sit back down after that, his knees too weak to hold him up anymore. He breathes a sigh of relief and smiles at Credence.  
  
“Congratulations, Credence. You are a wizard,” he says and allows himself to reach over and pat Credence’s free hand. “Welcome home.”  
  
When Credence bursts into more alarming tears and the wand falls to the floor, Graves moves quickly, kneeling at Credence’s side as he bows his head and hides his face in his palms. Graves rests his hand on the back of Credence’s neck and braces the other on his knee.  
  
“Shh, shh,” he shushes. “It’s alright.”  
  
“She hid it from me, didn’t she?” Credence croaks through his sobs. “She knew, all this time.”  
  
Graves sighs. “I’m afraid so, yes,” he murmurs and rubs Credence’s back as he continues to sob, great heaving sobs that make Graves regret pulling out the damn wand. But he supposes it was likely inevitable, even if he had put it off. “I’m sorry, Credence. I’m sorry she stole this from you. I’m sorry she punished you for it.”  
  
He’s intimately familiar with all the ways life is not fair and he knows that Credence is as well, but Graves was never deprived of who he really was. He’s from a long line of purebloods and knew he was a wizard before he knew what the word really meant. Credence has likely sensed that he belonged elsewhere, more than from the result of the abuse inflicted on him, but he has never had the answer before.  
  
He has been deprived of schooling, of children his age with the same abilities, friends, the potential to find lost family, if they’re out there. He has been deprived of the world he belongs in and has been kept in hell instead, manufactured by the woman he calls mother.  
  
Graves tightens his grip on Credence and looks at the fire, his nose twitching with the rage he feels, rage on Credence’s behalf.  
  
Graves knows hell, but he doesn’t know this hell, and he’s not sure if he can help Credence weather the storm.  
  
When Credence reaches for him, Graves can do nothing more than reach back, and he takes Credence’s hand in his own, holding it tightly to his chest.  
  
“I’m here,” he says quietly. “I’m here.”  
  
They stay like that for a while, until Credence’s sobs become softer and softer and eventually cease altogether. Graves wipes the tear streaks from his cheek as he peers up at Credence and frowns when Credence turns his cheek more into his hand, looking for comfort.  
  
She’d robbed him of that too, Graves thinks darkly, and keeps his hand on Credence’s cheek until his skin is no longer clammy and cool beneath his palm.  
  
“We’ll stop here for tonight,” Graves says. “Your sister is here and waiting for you. I’ll have someone take you to her.”  
  
“Where will we go?”  
  
“You’ll stay here tonight, likely in the infirmary. It’s the only place with anywhere comfortable to sleep. This is the safest possible place you can be,” Graves says. “Tomorrow will be busy, but I’ll help you through it. You won’t be abandoned again, Credence.”  
  
“Do you promise?” Credence asks, sounding younger than he is.  
  
“I do,” Graves says and stands, offering his hand. “I promise.”  
  
Credence looks him in the eye then, levelly, his own eyes red-rimmed and puffy. But he’s looking for a lie there, Graves knows, a lie he’s so used to seeing and Graves lets him look. Lets him see that not everyone will hurt him, not everyone will give him a reason to mistrust them, not everyone will ruin him.  
  
He must see it, because he takes Graves’ hand and stands, a little unsteady on his feet, and lets him guide them out of the office.  
  
 _“Credence!”_ a young, shrill voice yells.  
  
Graves sees that she’s sitting on Fontaine’s desk and with a dirty scowl aimed his way, she hops off of it and runs to her brother. Graves steps back and watches Credence sweep Modesty off her feet, holding on to her tightly, his relief palpable.  
  
Fontaine and Jauncey join Graves as he steps further away and he raises an eyebrow at Jauncey’s smirk and Fontaine’s own scowl.  
  
“What is she? Eight?”  
  
“She is, sir,” Jauncey answers as she snickers. “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know where to aim.”  
  
Graves winces in sympathy. “At least there’s some fight in her. Results?”  
  
Fontaine sighs grudgingly. “Latent.”  
  
“Really,” Graves says, as he looks at Credence and Modesty, who is now on the ground, but recounting what was no doubt a frightening night for her. “That makes two.”  
  
After a short briefing from Fontaine and Jauncey about how it went at the church - not all that well, but memories have been altered - Graves decides to escort Credence and Modesty to the infirmary himself. He doesn’t particularly want to let them out of his sight yet and he imagines that it must be frightening for them, in this building that seems to go on forever, filled with the very people their mother has told them are trying to dominate them.  
  
Modesty hasn’t been informed that she is a witch and Graves thanks Merlin for it. She’s too young yet, too fragile, and he doesn’t think Credence is in a position to help Modesty through it, having only just found out himself that he is a wizard and his entire life has been filled with lies.  
  
Graves hates Mary Lou a little more than he thought possible and strides through the empty halls of MACUSA with a scowl.  
  
They can’t let Miss Barebone go on with the knowledge of the wizarding world unless they keep her under observation and Graves doesn’t have the resources nor the patience for that. But they have procedures in place for this type of situation, sometimes involving memory altering, but that in itself requires skill and care, even more so when it comes to altering years of someone’s life. They prefer not to do it that way, simply because they don’t know everyone a no-maj might have spoken to and Miss Barebone has clearly spoken to many.  
  
Graves thinks a carefully crafted anonymous tip to the no-maj police can be the first step to dismantle the church and possibly remove the other child from Miss Barebone’s grasp before she ruins her completely.  
  
He leads the Barebones to the infirmary and steps inside and is glad to see that it is empty, beyond Madam Hornwall. She looks up as he approaches her and raises her eyebrows.  
  
“What on earth have you done now, Director?”  
  
Graves frowns. “Nothing, thank you,” he says and sighs as she merely gives him one of her _looks._ “Madam Hornwall, let me introduce you to the Barebones. This is Credence and Modesty and they will be staying with you tonight as… your guests.”  
  
Madam Hornwall frowns as she inspects Credence and Modesty, who both avoid her gaze after mumbling a polite hello. She nods briskly and arranges two beds closer to each other with a wave of her wand.  
  
“It’s not the most comfortable place to be a guest,” she says. “But I expect a quiet night.”  
  
“Is this the hospital for wizards?” Credence asks Graves quietly as he stops at his side.  
  
Graves raises his eyebrows before he chuckles. “No. I’m afraid St Lyptus’ is much more impressive,” he says. “This infirmary is merely for any accidents that may happen in MACUSA. There are many departments here that deal with volatile objects, creatures or magic.”  
  
“The Director spent a week here before he _was_ the Director. Only a junior Auror at the time,” Madam Hornwall supplies helpfully. “Worst case of Dragon Pox I have seen in my entire career. He nearly didn’t make it.”  
  
“Dragon Pox…?” Credence asks as Modesty gasps.  
  
“His skin was green for an entire month. He sparked for even longer.”  
  
“That’s about enough of that,” Graves says hastily. “It was hardly my fault the vipertooth was set loose in here.”  
  
“Your fault entirely for thinking tackling it was a good idea.”  
  
Graves sighs and shakes his head as Credence raises his eyebrows. “Don’t listen to her stories, they’re all lies,” he says and gestures for them to sit on their hospital beds. “She’ll get you any beverage or food you’d like.”  
  
“Oh yes, I’m a house elf now, Percival?”  
  
“Just for the night. I’ll take over in the morning,” he says and smiles shortly as she huffs at him. He looks at Credence and Modesty, who have chosen the same bed and are sitting arm to arm. “Will you be alright?”  
  
Credence opens his mouth and closes it before he looks down at his lap and nods. Modesty firmly shakes her head and answers with such a resounding _no_ that Madam Hornwall chuckles.  
  
Graves looks between them. He can hardly ask one of his Aurors to come and keep them company because he will never be able to get them to trust a complete stranger, let alone a witch or wizard. Modesty has already shown her appreciation for what Graves suspects she thought was a kidnapping, no matter how much his Aurors tried to tell her otherwise.  
  
And Credence, well… Credence has had a rough night and Graves regrets the idea that he will leave him here alone, without a familiar face to help him through the night.  
  
Not to mention that if anyone wanders in with their head three sizes too big or legs they can’t stop from vibrating like an alarm clock, it might just send the Barebones running back to their mother.  
  
Madam Hornwall merely scoffs after a while and flicks her wand at another bed, which sidles up next to the Barebones’. “You might as well make yourself comfortable, Director.”  
  
Graves sighs and can’t help the smile tugging at his lips as Credence looks at him with surprise and relief and something else, too, that Graves won’t be putting a name to anytime soon. He waits until Credence gets Modesty arranged in bed and comfortable before he sits down on his own hospital bed, briefly mourning his silk sheets.  
  
“What can I get you two?” Madam Hornwall asks.  
  
Credence and Modesty shake their heads.  
  
“At least some water,” Madam Hornwall decides and goes to fetch glasses for them before they can deny her that too.  
  
Graves holds up a finger. “Tumbler of firewhiskey.”  
  
“Fetch it yourself, Director.”  
  
Graves makes a wounded noise and fluffs his pillow until he can lounge back against it. He glances at Credence, who does the same, and his heart may or may not feel like it’s got a touch of firewhiskey in it already, the way it warms when Credence meets his eye and smiles.  
  
Really smiles, no hint of submission, no hint of unease, no hint of fear for what the morning will bring.  
  
“Good night, Mister Graves,” he says. “And… thank you. For all of it.”  
  
“It was truly my pleasure,” Graves says. “Good night, Credence.”  
  
——  
  
When Graves opens his eyes in the morning, more abruptly than usual, and he sees Modesty standing next to him, peering down at him with a frown, it is only twenty-some years of being an Auror that keeps him from jumping out of his skin.  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “Good morning,” he says. “Did you not sleep?”  
  
“I did, a little,” she says, like she’s surprised by it. “You don’t move when you sleep. Or make any noise.”  
  
He has those same twenty-some years to thank for that too, but he won’t be telling Modesty that. “No? I don’t snore? Like a great erumpent?”  
  
“What’s an erumpent?” Modesty asks skeptically, as if she thinks he’s teasing her, the same way her brother sometimes thinks the same thing.  
  
“An erumpent is a massive animal native to Africa. Big, bulbous head,” he says as he lowers his voice theatrically and gestures at his head. “With a long horn, like a rhinoceros, and the largest humpback you’ve ever seen.”  
  
Modesty giggles. “You’re making him up,” she accuses.  
  
“I wish I was, my dear, but I have seen them myself. Very big, very dangerous, but very far away from you and I.”  
  
“Hmm,” she hums, still skeptical, but she nods her acceptance after a while. “Are there other animals that only witches can see?”  
  
“You could see them too,” Graves says with a smile. “But our job here, at MACUSA, is to make sure that you don’t. Animals with magical properties might be dangerous to non-magical people.”  
  
Modesty thinks this over for a while, narrowing her eyes. “Are there magical zoos?”  
  
Graves chuckles. “Not if we can help it. We like for these animals, as endangered as they are, to roam free, in their own habitats.”  
  
“I don’t like seeing them in cages,” Modesty admits quietly. “The monkeys and lions look so sad.”  
  
It isn’t difficult to know why a caged animal might upset her and he watches her for a while, thinking of the life she has led until now. Her elder sister’s harsh words and corrections, her mother beating her brother for reasons she couldn’t understand, and he aches for these lost souls.  
  
Being an Auror requires a certain distance from others, whether they are victims or perpetrators, but Graves thinks that this is a unique situation, one he hasn’t come across in his career thus far. He has removed children from dark wizarding families in only the most extreme cases, but they were children who knew what they were, children who could stay in the wizarding world and overcome their difficulties, leave their ghosts behind and become well-adjusted.  
  
“Your brother saw a lion last night,” he whispers conspiratorially.  
  
Modesty gasps. “A real one?”  
  
“A magical one. Would you like to see her? She’s friendly.”  
  
Modesty looks around, as if suspecting her mother might wander in and punish her at any moment and that devastates his heart a little, but she nods firmly.  
  
Graves gently pulls out his wand and Modesty looks at it with awe, not fear, and he smiles as he points it at the middle of the room. His Patronus leaps free and Modesty gasps, covering her mouth, as the lioness turns toward them, ethereal and like white light turned liquid, a comfort to any witch or wizard. He guides his Patronus to come near and Modesty tentatively reaches her hand out, until the lioness pushes against it, much like a housecat looking for a scratch.  
  
“She’s warm,” Modesty says, though she does not ask why the Patronus is not a solid or real form. “She likes me!”  
  
“She does,” Graves agrees as he watches and feels something brewing inside of him that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.  
  
It should be alarming.  
  
It is.  
  
It isn’t.  
  
When he looks around Modesty at Credence, he sees that he is awake, lying still in bed, and watching his sister with the ghost of a smile. Whatever is brewing in Graves warms and grows and he lets it, thinking that it will be dangerous someday, but for now he will enjoy the feeling of it.  
  
But the day is going to be long and likely stressful for them all and Graves thanks Madam Hornwall before leading Credence and Modesty down to the food hall for breakfast. They deny just about everything he tries to offer them until he decides to stop offering and makes sure a few plates are fully loaded before they find a table to sit at near the corner of the room. There aren’t many MACUSA employees here yet, the sun has barely risen, and most eat at home anyway, but Graves is glad for it either way.  
  
“You’ll have to meet with a few different departments today,” Graves tells Credence after he has sipped from a strongly brewed cup of coffee. “You’ll need to be registered with MACUSA and answer questions about your background.” At Credence’s grimace, Graves hums. “Only to the best of your knowledge.”  
  
“I don’t know much of anything about my background,” Credence mutters. “I barely remember the orphanage.”  
  
“You might be surprised what you remember when you start retracing your footsteps,” Graves says mildly. “I’ll have someone look into the orphanage and see if we might be able to fill in the gaps.”  
  
Credence nods and pushes around the eggs on his plate. “Do many… wizard families put their children in an orphanage?”  
  
Graves sips on his coffee as he debates how to answer that particular question. _No,_ he wants to say, _almost never._ But it does happen occasionally, pureblood families forcing it on their children, if they had a child with someone they deemed lesser - whether that be a halfblood or no-maj.  
  
He hopes that Credence’s real parents were no-majs affected by the oncoming war, like so many were in the years after Credence’s birth. Barely enough to feed themselves, let alone a child, ignoring that the orphanages were likely the worst place they could leave their child. No-maj orphanages are an unfortunate place, he knows, and hopes they will eventually change.  
  
But they could have been anyone, under many different circumstances.  
  
“No,” he says, deciding he owes it to Credence to tell the truth. “But that might simply mean you were born to non-magical parents.”  
  
“How does that happen?” Credence asks quietly.  
  
“You had a relative who was a witch or wizard. They could have lived generations ago,” Graves says. “It only means the magic in your blood was dormant and was awakened when you were born.”  
  
Credence sighs, as if this reinforces the belief about himself that he’s wicked or maybe strange - off, different, unlucky. Graves will have none of that.  
  
“It means there is something special about you, Credence,” he says. “Something strong too.”  
  
Modesty peers between them as she munches on a chocolate croissant. “They’re not as evil as Mama said,” she tells her brother. “Mister Graves is kind. And you’re kind too, Credence.”  
  
Credence smiles faintly at his sister. “You think so?”  
  
“Yes,” Modesty says firmly. “And if wizards are kind and like you and Mister Graves, then they aren’t bad.” She looks around with a frown. “And Mama said they lived in Hell, but this is just the Woolworth Building.”  
  
Graves hides his own smile behind his cup of coffee but he winks when Credence glances at him and takes a bit of delight in the blush on his cheeks.  
  
More MACUSA employees begin to fill the hall as it gets closer to the start of the workday and Graves nods at anyone who looks his way or murmurs _good morning, Mister Graves,_ as they pass the table. Credence’s shoulders are steadily inching up toward his shoulders and Modesty is getting quieter and Graves decides that, as much as he would like them to be at ease, it will still take time.  
  
He ushers them out of the hall and takes them to the Registration Department. Graves explains the situation to the registrar while Credence and Modesty wait outside his office. He’s seen the situation more than Graves has and there are procedures to follow for it. He doesn’t bat an eye when Graves asks that he himself interviews Credence and readily agrees to it - whether that is because he is eager to study Credence or eager to please Graves, he doesn’t know, but hopes, for the registrar’s sake, that it is the latter.  
  
Graves doesn’t wish to leave Credence alone, but he won’t interfere or become a distraction during the registration process, and promises Credence he will merely be entertaining Modesty until he’s informed that Credence is done.  
  
Credence nods and looks a bit green as the registrar joyfully invites him into his office. One day he won’t look like he’s being led to his death, Graves thinks grimly, before he takes Modesty out of the department.  
  
“This place is a _lot_ bigger than it looks outside,” Modesty says as they wind their way through the halls and back to the lift.  
  
“It is, isn’t it?” he says as he pauses in front of the lift, then clears his throat. “Do you remember what I told you about magical creatures?”  
  
She nods.  
  
“You’re about to meet one. His name is Red and he operates the lift. He’s… very kind,” Graves says with a grimace. “It’s best not to stare.”  
  
Modesty looks rather excited but she only gapes at Red, their resident ill-tempered goblin, for a moment before Graves clears his throat and she hastily looks away. It doesn’t stop her from asking why he’s not in his own habitat before they get off the lift, to Graves’ mortification, and Red’s confusion, and he ushers the girl out before Red can get rightfully angry about it.  
  
He gets Modesty situated in his office and writes a few memos. When they perk up and fly to the door, slipping under it, off to find who they’re meant for, Modesty gasps and claps her hands with delight.  
  
Graves looks over a few reports on his desk and tries not to be distracted, but he’s never had a child in his office, and hasn’t been around children for so long that he forgets they rarely stop asking questions. He gives up on the reports after a while and shows Modesty a few wizarding objects in his office - the safest he can find anyway - and tells her what they do and how they help wizards.  
  
“Credence isn’t going to come back to the church, is he?” Modesty asks as she peers into a Remembrall, the smoke inside grey. “Will I ever see him again?”  
  
And, thank Merlin, Graves is spared from answering that question, by the knock on his door. He opens it with a flick of his wand and thinks that the trade-off is not much better when Seraphina Picquery wanders in.  
  
Seraphina peers at Modesty, who straightens her spine and goes very still, recognizing her as an authority figure without any idea who she actually is. He thinks he may be losing his touch, when he realizes Modesty did not have the same reaction to himself.  
  
“Which one of those traitors told you?” Graves asks as he lounges back in his chair and puts his feet up on his desk.  
  
“No one had to tell me for me to know something has happened and you’re the reason for it,” Seraphina says and narrows her eyes. “Though I would have liked to have heard from you before I came down here.”  
  
Graves shrugs. “I have had my hands full this morning.”  
  
Seraphina hums and looks at Modesty again. “Your name, young lady?”  
  
“M—Modesty Barebone, ma’am,” Modesty peeps and tries to make herself smaller in the chair, a habit she shares with her brother.  
  
“Miss Barebone,” Seraphina says. “You may call me Madam Picquery.”  
  
Modesty merely nods, looking too frightened to say anything else. Graves sympathizes with her and looks at Seraphina expectantly.  
  
“What has been done?” she asks.  
  
“Evaluation is latent for both,” Graves says mildly. “Credence, the oldest, is with Registration at the moment. He’s nearly twenty, from what I understand, but he was denied his rights at eleven.”  
  
Seraphina frowns. “I assume you have ideas of what’s to be done about that.”  
  
“Many.”  
  
“Good,” Seraphina nods, her hands clasped in front of her. “I wish to meet the boy. We’ll need to find placement for him. There will be restrictions, of course.”  
  
“Like?” Graves asks archly.  
  
Seraphina merely raises an eyebrow. “You are welcome to attend the meeting, Percival. Have him brought to me when he’s finished for the day,” she says and nods between them before she’s gone as quickly as she came.  
  
Graves drums his fingers on his desk as he stares at the office door. He’s prepared to fight any restrictions Seraphina sees fit to impose on the Barebones, when he would normally be in agreement with her, but she hasn’t seen them the way he has. She hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting Mary Lou Barebone or seeing the conditions her children were living in and subjected to.  
  
Though Graves thinks it might run a little deeper than that, he'll examine that at another time.  
  
“She’s scary,” Modesty says after a while.  
  
“Terrifying,” Graves agrees.  
  
Some time later, when a memo slips under his door and dances up onto his desk, still to the delight of Modesty, he reads it. “Your brother is done,” he says. “Should we go save him from the registrar?”  
  
Modesty nods somberly and they leave the office. When they arrive at the Registration Department, they find Credence standing in the registrar’s waiting room with a thick file under his arm, nodding politely at the registrar who is explaining… his job, it seems, and Graves wonders if Credence is as bored to tears as he would be.  
  
“Ah, Director Graves!” the registrar says. “I do believe I have all I need from Mister Barebone. A very polite young man! He’ll need a proper celebration soon.”  
  
“For…?” Graves asks.  
  
“His welcome into the wizarding world, of course! And his birthday in a few weeks!”  
  
Credence is squirming like he’s got a bowtruckle down his shirt and Graves purses his lips so he doesn’t laugh. “We’ll make sure he enjoys it,” he says. “Good day.”  
  
“Good day, good day. Welcome home, young man, and happy birthday!”  
  
Credence’s cheeks are bright red once he gets away from the registrar’s grasp and they walk out into the hallway. Credence sags a little and Graves notices that he looks exhausted. He wonders if he slept at all last night or if it was simply the interview, which would have attempted to delve into a past he can’t remember or that pains him.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Credence sighs and nods. “Yes,” he says. “It was just… loud. I don’t think I did well, I didn’t know how to answer most questions.”  
  
“It was to be expected. We’ll find more answers as we go along,” Graves says. “We need to sort out a few more things today before you can leave. Unfortunately we’ll have to meet someone else who likes to drone on and on before those things can be decided.”  
  
Credence frowns. “Who?”  
  
“The Madam President of MACUSA,” Graves sighs. He chuckles and claps Credence on the shoulder as he goes green again. “Your sister has met her already.”  
  
“She’s very scary,” Modesty says with a nod.  
  
It doesn’t seem to make Credence feel any better.  
  
Graves takes the file from Credence, merely standard information he can review later, and shrinks it so it can fit in his pocket, smiling as Credence and Modesty stare in wonder.  
  
As he leads them through MACUSA up to the topmost floor, Credence asks, “How can you have this sort of place and no one… no non-magical people know?”  
  
“Enchantments and charms ward off no-majs,” Graves says. “They see it as something else. And if they come too close, they remember they’ve left the stove on and have to return home urgently.” He smiles as Modesty giggles. “There are some no-majs who are aware we exist. The no-maj President knows, but will deny any knowledge if asked. It’s vital that there is some communication between our worlds, if there might be a threat one day that could affect both.”  
  
“What kind of threat?”  
  
Graves hums. “A dark wizard who cares nothing for the statute of secrecy. We’ve come across one or two of them before,” he says. “It can be something more benign, like the mating season for the Thunderbirds that live out in Arizona. They create monsoons which can cause significant damage to no-maj structures and the occasional no-maj death, if they wander too closely. Not to mention the sightings. We fund repairs and alter memories as needed.”  
  
Credence looks fascinated by this, as does Modesty, and Graves thinks he might know just the sort of books he can send them home with. He’s glad to see their interest, so much better than their fear, and hopes they keep their wits about them with Seraphina.  
  
When they arrive in front of her office, two huge purple and gold-trimmed doors, guarded by her personal team of Aurors, Credence and Modesty clasp hands. The Aurors nod at Graves and open the door, gesturing them inside.  
  
Seraphina’s office is more comfortable than his, which he thinks only makes it more distracting, with all of the portraits and armchairs and lush carpets and rugs. There’s a massive golden clock hanging above her ornately designed desk, ticking silently, but it has always given Graves the impression that it’s counting down the moments until their unfortunate demise, whether it be their jobs or their lives.  
  
She’s sitting behind her desk, ramrod straight as she always is, and looking over reports of her own. With a small wave of her hand, the door closes behind them and Modesty gasps.  
  
“Not to worry, Miss Barebone,” Seraphina says mildly. “I only prefer privacy.”  
  
Graves shows Credence and Modesty into the high, leather-backed chairs in front of the President’s desk. He chooses to stand aside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.  
  
Seraphina gives him a long look before she turns to the Barebones and peers between them for a while, until they’re both squirming.  
  
“Your case is an unusual one,” she begins, “but not entirely unheard of. Mister Barebone, since you are of age, you are free to do as you wish. But it is within your best interests to let MACUSA aid you for some time, as you acclimate into our world.”  
  
“Alright,” Credence croaks.  
  
Seraphina frowns. “Your unfortunate lack of knowledge of the wizarding world needs to be addressed. Most wizards your age will have already graduated from Ilvermorny with chosen professions. You do not even have a wand. While I am perfectly willing to supply you with school books and a tutor so you may catch up on your studies, I am reluctant to allow you a wand. If you accept our aid, my first restriction would be a six month probation period before you can visit Mister Jonker.”  
  
“Sera,” Graves says sharply. “You expect him to go through schooling and actually learn anything without a wand?”  
  
“I expect Mister Barebone is in a fragile emotional state and that putting a wand in his hand when he has no one to help him control himself might lead to catastrophe.”  
  
Credence raises his hand and Seraphina frowns at him for a while before gesturing for him to speak. “You said I would have a tutor.”  
  
“A tutor only for your studies, Mister Barebone, but not one that would live with you. There are lodgings available that MACUSA owns and will provide necessities for. I will give you a list and you can decide which would fit your needs. A monthly stipend, I think, to help you support yourself and your family as well.”  
  
Credence gapes at her, then at Graves, who is still fuming.  
  
“That’s generous,” he says darkly. “And how can he be expected to protect himself without a wand?”  
  
Seraphina sighs. “I do not foresee any situation in the next six months that Mister Barebone will need a wand to get through.”  
  
“Only his entire studies,” Graves snaps. “He needs a wand.”  
  
“Then he cannot live alone.”  
  
“Oh? Do you have an idea of who you might hand Credence over to?” Graves asks. “No one knows what his situation is.”  
  
Seraphina leans back in her chair. “It sounds as if you do, Percy,” she says and the faintest hint of amusement in her voice confuses him.  
  
“I damn well do,” he says. “You cannot place Credence with anyone that I don’t pick out personally.”  
  
“Who do you have in mind?” Seraphina asks sweetly.  
  
Graves scowls at her. “That isn’t an answer I can give you at the moment.”  
  
“No,” Seraphina agrees. “Or ever, I suspect.”  
  
He pauses, opening his mouth and closing it. “Excuse me?” he finally barks, for lack of anything better to say.  
  
Seraphina looks at Credence and Modesty, her hands clasped together on her desk. “To think this is the man I have entrusted my entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement to,” she says and sighs as he bristles. “You are perfectly capable of taking Credence Barebone in. Surely you trust yourself?”  
  
Graves stares at her for a while, his heart beating angrily, and holds up his finger to make a point, or so he’d like to think, because the fight goes out of him and he slumps back against the wall.  
  
“I’ve got too many cases and not enough time to devote to his studies. It wouldn’t be fair to Credence,” he says, avoiding the thought that, maybe, just maybe, he _doesn’t_ trust himself.  
  
He did only last night, before he met Credence Barebone, but now the mere idea of living with him sets his heart off in a way that seems much more dangerous now than it has all day.  
  
Not to mention Credence would mean Modesty, which they’ll have to discuss at some point, and Graves has never lived with a child nor been responsible for one. If Seraphina had suggested it just yesterday morning, he would have laughed in her face.  
  
“Credence,” Seraphina says, addressing him, and he sits up straighter in his chair.  
  
“M—Madam President?”  
  
“Mister Graves is likely to have a fit if I impose any restrictions on your integration into wizarding society. Would you be comfortable staying with him?”  
  
“Sera,” Graves hisses.  
  
 _“Would you?”_  
  
Credence looks warily between them. “I don’t want to be any trouble, ma’am,” he says quietly. “I’ve never lived alone before and I… I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself. Mister Graves has been very kind.”  
  
“And he’s more than qualified to help you learn how to safely use your wand,” Seraphina says. When Graves opens his mouth to protest, she holds her hand up. “Disperse some of your caseload, if you can, Percy, and bring Credence in with you when you’re in the office. If he’s to learn to live among us, he should _be_ among us. There are many things he can learn here.”  
  
As Graves thinks of all the ways that could go terribly, terribly wrong or terribly, terribly right, Modesty sniffles.  
  
“I’ll miss you, Credence,” she says, her lower lip wobbling.  
  
Credence frowns and takes up his sister’s hand. “You’ll see me still. More than you think,” he says and glances at Graves.  
  
“A conversation to have now, I think, before you leave MACUSA,” Seraphina says with some sympathy. “We will give you privacy. Percival, walk with me.”  
  
She rises gracefully from her desk and Graves frowns as he looks at Credence. But Credence doesn’t look frightened that he must tell Modesty she will not be going back to the church - on the contrary, he looks prepared for the conversation. Graves supposes it must be the relief, the relief that he knows Modesty will never be subjected to their mother again, that she will be raised in the wizarding world alongside him.  
  
Graves leaves them be and follows Seraphina out into the hallway and they leisurely begin to stroll down it.  
  
“I’ve never seen you so protective, Percival,” Sera says. “You must have witnessed what Miss Goldstein suspected was happening.”  
  
“More than I would have liked,” Graves says. “But it had to be stopped.”  
  
“Mmm, yes, of course,” Sera says. “But you like the boy beyond that.”  
  
Graves frowns, but before he can come up with something to say, she continues, “You see yourself in him.”  
  
He’d prefer if she hadn’t put it that way, but he knows what she means. “In a way,” he says stiffly. “I understand him.”  
  
“You understand him through what was done to you,” Sera says as she pauses to look at him. “But you don’t understand him completely. You’ve just met him, Percy. Credence Barebone is still a mystery. Don’t try to solve him with what you know about yourself.”  
  
Graves looks up at the ceiling for a while, smoothly alternating between being indignant by what she’s assuming, pissed off about it, and annoyed that he knows she’s right.  
  
Seraphina is the only one in this world that he’s confided in, starting from when they were in their first year together, and she is the only one he will abide by telling him what to do, in and out of his personal life.  
  
“I have no interest in cracking his head open and seeing what’s inside,” he finally says. “If he wishes to confide in me, I’ll help him in any way that I can. And I’ll let him be the one to do it. But I do understand what was done to him, Seraphina, better than most.”  
  
“You do,” she agrees. “Which is why I’m comfortable if you take on the role of his mentor. If you teach him how to use a wand safely. And I think, between the two of you, you may figure out how to raise a child along the way. He’ll need aid in that regard.”  
  
“We’re in agreement then,” Graves says with an uncomfortable twist to his lips. “Though I think I’ll need aid in that regard as well.”  
  
Seraphina chuckles. “Children are easy,” she says and smirks. “It’s the older one I’m more concerned about.”  
  
And, Graves thinks, they’re in agreement on that as well.  
  
She asks him, merely out of curiosity, about the situation with the Second Salemers church and he informs her of the rest of Goldstein’s work and progress. Seraphina trusts him to run his department without interference on most matters and approves of the way the case has been handled, especially by Goldstein. She also approves of his plans to promote her in late spring and suggests involving her in Credence and Modesty’s progress.  
  
Which he intends to do to some degree, for the days he must leave MACUSA for field work or the days that he can’t be distracted in his office.  
  
They have childcare for employees who cannot find or possibly don’t have a support system and Graves knows that, before they can let Modesty join the other children, all of wizarding blood, they’ll have to inform her that she is indeed a witch.  
  
He’s reminded of all of the responsibilities he’s taking on and sighs at the thought of all of the paperwork waiting for him. He’ll disperse only what he feels comfortable with, which isn’t much, and curses the holidays for their eternally bad timing.  
  
“Take two days for yourself and the Barebones,” Seraphina says as they walk back to her office.  
  
“I’m sorry, do what now? Sera, I think you’ve forgotten what month it is. What week it is.”  
  
“I’ve forgotten nothing, Percy. Are you saying the Aurors in your office that _you’ve_ trained aren’t capable of being on their own for two days?”  
  
“You won’t get me riled up,” he warns her. “I’m saying that it’s impossible to take time off right now.”  
  
“Your responsibilities have changed—”  
  
“My _responsibilities_ remain with my department. I’m sure Goldstein would relish the opportunity to speak with Credence and get him the essentials.”  
  
Seraphina doesn’t reply for a while. Finally, she sighs. “Of course you’re right,” she says, never a good sign. “Goldstein will be a comfort to him, I’m sure, when he visits Mister Jonker. The support he needs for such a monumental moment.”  
  
Graves’ lips thin as they approach her door and she pauses in front of it to gaze at him serenely. He glares at her for a while.  
  
“Fuck,” he finally says. “One day.”  
  
“Two.”  
  
“One and a half.”  
  
“Three.”  
  
“Sera.”  
  
“Percy.”  
  
Graves inhales deeply and looks up at the ceiling. He nods in acquiesce, accepting his fate, and pushes the door open to stride into her office.  
  
Credence and Modesty remain in their chairs, holding hands between them, and when he gets near, he sees that Modesty’s eyes are red-rimmed, but she doesn’t look upset. She’s smiling, in fact, at her brother, and then at Graves, and he feels a swell of pride in his chest. He wants to tell Credence _well done,_ but he thinks that might fluster him too much, so he merely smiles back.  
  
“Where do you live, Mister Graves?” she asks.  
  
“Uptown,” Graves says slowly.  
  
Credence frowns. “An apartment?”  
  
Seraphina hides a chuckle by gently coughing. “A spacious apartment, Mister Barebone. Mister Graves will finally be able to put his spare rooms to use.”  
  
Graves narrows his eyes at her before he shakes his head and looks at Credence. “We won’t be living on top of each other,” he clarifies. “You’ll both have your own space.”  
  
“I’ll have my own room?” Modesty asks with awe.  
  
He remembers then, the sort of squalor they were living in, and pushes past the anger he feels to smile. “Of course.”  
  
“And anything you’d like to fill it with,” Seraphina says with her first smile for the Barebones. “Mister Graves needs an excuse to spend the very large salary I am paying him.”  
  
 _“Alright,”_ Graves says firmly, ushering Credence and Modesty out of their chairs. “Let’s go. I’ve got to finish some work, but we’ll… we’ll go home soon.”  
  
There’s silence at this, as they all think of what _home_ will now mean to them, and Graves feels that, when he closes Seraphina’s door, his life is going to be forever altered. He’s not sure if he feels sick because he gave himself no choice, he is losing his precious freedom, or if it’s because he’s gaining something he’s never had.  
  
Credence and Modesty thank Seraphina profusely and Graves gives her a salute once their backs are turned, which she understands to mean something else, and rolls her eyes, fluttering her hand in dismissal.  
  
They go back to his department and he orders lunch and dives into the paperwork he cannot leave unattended for the next few days. Credence keeps Modesty busy, but Graves still finds himself peering at them now and then. They have already accepted that their lives have been changed - Credence, when he found out he was a wizard, Modesty, when she realized she would not be under Mary Lou’s grasp anymore.  
  
He’s beginning to accept it himself, but he doesn’t think it will feel real until he wakes in his apartment in the morning and remembers he is no longer alone.  
  
A few hours after lunch has been eaten and he has finished his work to a degree he feels vaguely comfortable with, he stares between Credence and Modesty and debates on how he’s going to get them home. It’s started snowing, of course, and Credence is still only in his no-maj coat and Graves himself is underdressed because of it. He doesn’t particularly feel like making the six mile walk anyway.  
  
“Wizards can travel by a variety of different methods,” Graves explains as he paces up and down his office. “Floo Network, of course, and Apparition. Brooms, but that won’t come for a while and certainly not over the city. Portkeys, which aren’t relevant tonight.”  
  
When he looks at Credence and Modesty, he sees them exchanging glances, like he must be mad, and he sighs.  
  
“Using the Floo Network or Apparition both come with downsides,” Graves says slowly. “Though, arguably, the Floo Network less so.”  
  
He gestures them away from the fireplace and grabs the floo powder out of one of the drawers along the wall. “This is floo powder,” he says and grabs a handful, tossing it into the flames. They roar with green life and Modesty shrieks, grabbing Credence’s leg as he himself flinches. “That’s the least exciting thing about it.”  
  
“We’re walking into fire?” Credence asks and sounds as if he’s debating calling the entire wizarding world to quits.  
  
“Harmless fire,” Graves says. “It’s barely warm and it won’t burn you. See?” He puts his hands in the flames, letting them dance along his fingers. “Perfectly safe.”  
  
Modesty is the first to come forward and after some gentle coaxing she touches the flames and giggles. “It doesn’t burn!” she says and grabs Credence, pulling him closer. “You try, Credence!”  
  
Credence sighs but he reaches into the flames without much hesitation and frowns as he turns his hand over. “How is it used?”  
  
“You stand inside and announce your destination _clearly._ Don’t want to end up tumbling into someone else’s living room,” Graves says and chuckles as Credence groans. “We’ll all go together the first time, don’t worry. But I must warn you, it’s not comfortable until you’re used to it. You’ll feel like you’re spinning faster than you ought to be able to and you’ll want to keep your elbows tucked into your sides to avoid getting knocked around. Sound alright?”  
  
 _“This_ is the easier one?” Credence asks.  
  
“Most first-time Apparaters get violently ill,” Graves says gravely.  
  
Credence sighs. “Alright,” he mutters and looks at Modesty. “What do you think?”  
  
“It sounds fun!” Modesty says. “Can we do it in any fireplace?”  
  
“I’m afraid not. You have to register a fireplace with MACUSA, they’re strictly monitored. This one, for instance, is only tied to the one in my apartment, and that one to few other places,” Graves says. “If anyone were to try to get into either without approval from myself and MACUSA, they’re flagged for immediate detainment.”  
  
Credence gapes at him and Graves shrugs.  
  
“I’m an important man,” he says and smirks as Modesty giggles again. “Are you two up for it?”  
  
When they’ve both nodded, Graves steps into the fireplace with them and interlocks his arm with Credence on his right and Modesty on his left. He winks at her and says, very clearly, _“Home!”_  
  
Modesty shrieks for a while and Credence yelps, but Graves keeps a steady grip on them both, and once they’ve spun past numerous other fireplaces, they land in his own in the apartment. Graves keeps a firm grip on them, as Modesty crashes into his leg and Credence nearly bowls over headfirst.  
  
“I’ve got you,” he says with some effort, because as much as Credence likes to hunch over and make himself seem smaller, he’s taller than Graves. “You’re alright.”  
  
Once he’s brushed some ash out of Modesty’s hair and off of Credence’s coat, he steps further into his living room and peers quickly around for anything that is decidedly not child proof. The liquor cabinet will have to be locked and his office and bedroom, but he thinks that beyond that, his apartment is suitable enough.  
  
“Wow,” Modesty whispers as she walks across the dark hardwood floors and spins in a circle.  
  
The apartment is incredibly nice - that’s why he bought it - and Graves smiles a little as he watches them take in the spacious living room. There are two sofas and an armchair over a large area rug made of bearskin. One of the walls is entirely floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the city and the steadily setting sun.  
  
He doesn’t use his kitchen much, but it’s sprawling and wide, with a breakfast bar and the aforementioned liquor cabinet that he pulls out his wand for and twirls it until it locks itself.  
  
“My bedroom is on this side,” he says as he points to the right hallway beyond the kitchen. “And the guest rooms, guest bathroom, and my office are down to the left. The guest rooms should be around the same size, but you two should decide which one you want.”  
  
Modesty looks at Credence with wide, pleading eyes, and he smiles. “Go pick yours first,” he says and with a grin, she’s off. He watches her go before slowly turning to Graves. “Mister Graves, this is… this is too generous. I don’t want to impose. I’d be okay without a wand, if you’d rather I choose from Madam Picquery’s list—”  
  
“Credence,” Graves interrupts and approaches him, putting his hands on his shoulders. He ducks down to catch Credence’s eye when he looks away. “Credence, I want you and your sister here. These are extraordinary circumstances. You’ll both need help adjusting and learning.”  
  
“But she offered a tutor, that would be alright…”  
  
“A tutor that I don’t feel like vetting when I know I’m perfectly capable of teaching you. This is no burden on me, Credence,” Graves says firmly. “For my peace of mind alone, I would prefer you both stay here.”  
  
Credence meets his eye then, unsure, still looking for that lie. The lie that would tell him he is indeed unwanted and a burden, everything he believes about himself, and Graves lets him look, will always let him look, and find something better than that, more authentic and warm.  
  
He must find it, but he still ducks his head. “You’re so busy though,” Credence whispers. “You said your caseload—”  
  
“Am I the Director or am I the Director? This is why I have an entire department of Aurors at my disposal. Besides, I’ll still be working,” Graves says. “When you’re ready, we can find you a place in MACUSA to work as well.”  
  
“Won’t I need to know how to use magic?”  
  
“Not necessarily,” Graves says as he squeezes Credence’s shoulders and releases them. “But it’ll keep you from getting bored to tears in my office every day.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be bored if you were there,” Credence mumbles.  
  
Graves is saved from responding to _that_ when Modesty comes out of the hall and insists on dragging Credence back to look at his new room. He watches them go and runs his hands through his hair before he goes to his own bedroom to get out of the no-maj outfit he’s been stuck in. He chooses a white button-up and black slacks and finds something more casual for Credence.  
  
They’ll be in Dragon Street first thing, he decides, to do some necessary wardrobe shopping. He has a feeling it’ll be an uphill battle, but he’s used to those. Wryly, he thinks that it’s a good thing Credence doesn’t understand magical currency, because he’s sure he’d send him to the grave by the amount of coin he’s planning on spending tomorrow.  
  
Credence takes the offered clothes and Graves sits on Modesty’s bed, which she claims to be the biggest bed she has ever seen in all her life, and listens to her tell him everything she’s always wanted to have in her room, but not been allowed to. Graves is pained that they are things as mundane as a bookshelf, mirror and a few dolls. He has a strong and sudden desire to call for the Goldstein sisters, who are far more practiced in what little girls enjoy decorating their rooms with, to do the shopping with Modesty.  
  
But then he wouldn’t be able to and that doesn’t sit quite right with him either.  
  
When he cooks dinner that night, with an audience of two, he realizes he will need to go grocery shopping as well, and is suddenly glad that Seraphina has forced him into two days off - not that he will tell her. The meal is rather modest, rice and vegetables with chicken, but the Barebones eat it like it’s the truest form of ambrosia and Graves tries not to give in to the desire to find Mary Lou Barebone and curse her into oblivion.  
  
Credence tucks Modesty into bed not long after and Graves pours himself a tumbler of scotch and collapses on the sofa with a groan.  
  
“You can join me,” he says as he hears Credence shuffling around in the hall.  
  
Credence does so, sitting on the far end of the sofa, and Graves offers him his glass.  
  
“No, thank you, Mister Graves,” Credence says quietly. “I don’t like the taste.”  
  
“I suppose I didn’t at your age either,” Graves says with a wry smile, a bit of a lie, and takes a sip. “Speaking of. Your birthday is in a few weeks? What day?”  
  
Credence squirms a little and Graves notices that he keeps touching his shirt and trousers, as if the feel of the material is novel and foreign, something to be admired.  
  
 _I’m going to keep you,_ Graves wants to say, _I’m going to keep you and Modesty, here, with me, forever, because you deserve the best, you always have, you deserve kindness and comfort and ease, and I can give you that. Will you let me?_  
  
But he doesn’t, because Credence and Modesty aren’t his to keep. They are their own family and they will leave one day, when they’re ready.  
  
“It’s the twenty-fourth,” Credence says after a while.  
  
“Christmas Eve, huh?” Graves says and tips the scotch back. “I suppose some good things come out of December.”  
  
“Do you not like Christmas, Mister Graves?”  
  
“Credence, I can’t remember a Christmas that I haven’t spent interrogating someone who hasn’t broken the law in a breathtakingly heinous way. The people who don’t have families or friends tend to become more volatile on holidays.”  
  
“You never go see your family on Christmas?”  
  
Graves looks mournfully down at his empty tumbler. “I don’t.”  
  
Credence is quiet for a while. “Ma said Christmas was a Pagan holiday first and that Christians tried to hide it, make it their own, but it would never erase where it came from. And Paganism is the religion of peasants and pig farmers. We never celebrated Christmas.”  
  
Graves is wildly out of his depth when it comes to this no-maj nonsense and he merely looks at Credence, who is studying the material of his trousers again.  
  
“We never celebrated Christmas with Ma anyway. But I always take Modesty to see ice skating in Central Park. Ma would never buy her skates and I tried, once, but she found what I’d saved and punished me for my avarice.”  
  
“Credence…”  
  
“I don’t say it for pity, Mister Graves,” Credence mutters. “But if I could work at… at MACUSA, like you said, I could afford to buy her a pair of ice skates next year.”  
  
Graves rubs his eyes for a long moment, to keep from crying or laughing, he doesn’t know, but when he looks at Credence again, he merely smiles. “We’ll find you work then,” he says. “As soon as we can. One of my Aurors has a sister who works in the Wand Permit Office. You could work alongside her. Not fascinating work, mind you, but enough for now, if you’d want it.”  
  
Credence smiles, small but true, and Graves peers at him, his heart aching and breaking in a million different ways.  
  
“Thank you, Mister Graves,” he says. The smile fades then and his eyebrows come together, pain written across them. “Modesty… she’s like me.”  
  
“Like us, yes,” Graves says quietly.  
  
“I wanted to leave one day,” Credence whispers. “Escape Ma.” He sniffs and wipes his eyes. “If I had, before Modesty turned eleven, Ma would have… she would have… to Modesty… and I wouldn’t have been there to _help_ her.”  
  
“Credence,” Graves says and sets his glass aside before sitting closer to Credence, who bows over and begins to cry in earnest, but quietly, so as to not disturb his sleeping sister. Graves wraps an arm around Credence’s back and gently pulls him against his side. “Shh, shh. It didn’t happen. It won’t happen.”  
  
Credence fists his hands in Graves’ shirt and cries into his shoulder and Graves holds tightly onto him and tries not to remember a sister with long, raven hair that used to hold him the same way, when it all became too much. He presses his cheek against Credence’s own dark hair and squeezes his eyes shut as he tells him _it’s fine now, you’re safe, she’s safe, you’ll be safe from now on, I promise, I promise._

They stay that way until Credence’s tears stop but he doesn’t move away and neither does Graves. Not until he can feel Credence’s body beginning to sag and he chuckles.  
  
“You need to catch up on some sleep,” he says quietly.  
  
Credence nods and sits up straighter, scrubbing at his eyes.  
  
“I can’t sleep,” Modesty’s voice declares from the hallway, where she stands, white as a ghost.  
  
Credence jumps and Graves idly thinks he’ll need a bell for this damn child as he stands and offers his hand to her brother.  
  
“Why can’t you sleep?” Graves asks as he claps Credence on the shoulder when he’s standing. They join Modesty, walking back down the hall with her to her new room.  
  
“It’s too big,” Modesty mumbles sheepishly. “There are lots of shadows.”  
  
Graves frowns as he peers around the room, at the wardrobe and armchair and lamp, trying to see them from a child’s point of view. He supposes the moonlight must make their shadows creep up the walls and hums.  
  
“I might have a solution for that,” he says and takes out his wand. Once Credence has tucked Modesty back into bed, Graves concentrates on the spell he very likely hasn’t used since school.  
  
But it comes back to him, as easily as it always does, and golden bubbles begin to emerge from the tip of his wand, glowing and bobbing like the fireflies in Allegany State Park. He makes dozens of varying sizes and smiles as he sees Modesty gazing at them in wonder. When she touches one, it doesn’t pop, but gently bounces off of her finger and bobs through the room.  
  
“Better?” he asks as he puts his wand away.  
  
Modesty nods. “Thank you, Mister Graves,” she whispers with reverence as she watches the bubbles, their soft light warm and peaceful.  
  
Credence’s eyes have tears in them again, when Graves looks at him, and he thinks that it will take time, but one day he will heal. They both will.  
  
And when Graves leans against the doorway to Credence’s room as he gets himself situated for sleep, he’s not surprised when the timid request comes, and fills the room with light, golden and healing.  
  
——  
  
Morning comes bright and early for Graves, as it always does, and he opens his bedroom door to listen for any sounds, but there are none. Sleeping peacefully, he hopes, as he gets ready for the day. It feels right, slipping into his usual, tailored clothing after a shower and slicking his hair back until it’s immaculate. He’s had to pretend to be a no-maj far too many times in his career, but he hopes the next one is far off from now.  
  
He gets the post from an owl waiting for him outside the window and reads through his mail while leaning against the breakfast bar. There’s something from MACUSA already and when he opens it, he feels the magic of a disguised charm and taps his wand on the letter, a familiar box materializing on top of it. He sets it aside and reads through Seraphina’s letter.  
  
 _A gift from MACUSA, to the Barebones, for a variety of reasons. I would advise them to open a vault with Gringotts and begin their first steps into financial security. Though perhaps it would not be an entirely bad idea to let them purchase something for themselves in Dragon Street today. No brooms, Percival._ _  
__  
__See you in three days._  
  
“You—” Graves cuts himself off with a scowl and crumples her letter up, tossing it into the bin. “We’ll see about three, Madam President.”  
  
“Mister Graves?”  
  
This time he does falter, his elbow slipping off the counter as he looks at the hall and at Modesty, who is scrubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning.  
  
“Good morning,” he says as he straightens himself out and tucks the box away into his pocket. “Sleep well?”  
  
Modesty nods as she wanders over. “You look different, Mister Graves,” she says, with all the honesty of an eight year old, inspecting his clothing.  
  
“Good or bad different?”  
  
She thinks on that for a while before she smiles. “Good,” she says. “You look like a banker.”  
  
Graves laughs. “That’s not the sort of reputation I was going for,” he says and smiles as she frowns at him in confusion. “We’ll be leaving soon, if you want to wake your brother up. Busy day ahead of us. Lots of shopping.”  
  
She’s off to wake up her brother and once they’ve used the facilities, Graves leads them back into the fireplace, with only minimal complaining, but quite a lot of staring from Credence, which he can’t figure out. He’d normally Apparate, but they’re not ready for that, nor does he want the day to start out with any vomiting. Once he’s sure they’re properly ready, he takes them to the inn, still keeping a grip on them once they arrive, until they get their feet under them. When they step out of the fireplace, which opens into a spacious lobby of the inn, where wizards and witches are mingling, sitting in a cafe in the corner or standing in groups, prepared for their own day of shopping.  
  
“Mister Graves, sir!” Albert, the innkeeper says as he approaches them. “What a treat, indeed! Is there anything I can get you, sirs? Madam?”  
  
Modesty frowns at being addressed this way and Graves smirks a little. “No, thank you. Busy day ahead of us, Albert.”  
  
“Good of you to get here early. I expect madness in a few hours,” Albert says with a delicate sniff.  
  
“Christmas,” Graves mutters darkly and Albert nods somberly in agreement. “Good day.”  
  
He leads the Barebones through the courtyard behind the inn, small and filled with dormant bushes and dead hedges. He can tell from the look on Credence’s face that he was perhaps expecting more out of the wizarding world and smiles to himself as he leads them to a corner of the courtyard, in a small alcove, with only three grey, brick walls. They stare at it, then at him.  
  
“You’re not impressed yet?” Graves asks and tsks as he pulls out his wand, tapping it on the middle brick of the wall.  
  
The bricks shudder and gently part, like a doorway, and Dragon Street is laid before them, winding and, despite the early hour, still filled with a variety of shoppers. Graves doesn’t come here often, unless it’s on business or to update his own wardrobe, but he does have to admit the Christmas decorations make it brighter than it usually is.  
  
There are Christmas trees on either side of the street, towering, but bending at the top, meeting in the middle above their heads, one golden star rotating gently between them.  
  
“Is this real?” Modesty asks as she looks around, wonder in her eyes and voice.  
  
Credence looks a bit more overwhelmed. “I think it is,” he says. “But it’s not so bad, is it?”  
  
Modesty merely shakes her head, her mouth open wide.  
  
Graves will take that, at least, and leads them into the street. People shoot him furtive and wary glances, giving him room, which always makes it a bit easier to traverse down the street. They think he’s here on business, of course, and he doesn’t blame them for their assumptions. Where he goes, arrests and, sometimes, mayhem follows. He won’t tell the Barebones that for a long while.  
  
He takes them to get a bite to eat first, at Cove’s Cafe, which serves a delightfully strong coffee from Argentina, as well as hearty breakfasts, and they sit on the patio outside. Modesty doesn’t seem to have any trouble eating her eggs, breakfast sausages and toast, but it takes a bit more coaxing for Credence to join her. He’s gazing around at everyone, dressed so differently than he’s used to, who have looser shoulders and quicker smiles.  
  
They both get distracted by the casual magic that’s used, whether it’s to deliver plates of food, or the carafe that fills Graves’ coffee whenever it empties, or the brooms that zoom overhead, an advertisement for the latest model, charmed to lead anyone curious straight to the broom shop.  
  
Graves tells them that they’ll be visiting Madam Anita’s first, to get clothes fitted and ordered, before they’ll buy some necessities for Credence so he can study in a variety of different shops. He mentions a few more stops, but doesn’t say which, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm them any more than they already are.  
  
“Oh, Merlin, Mister Fontaine wasn’t lying,” he hears a familiar voice say to his left.  
  
Graves glances at Tina Goldstein, who is standing with her sister on the other side of the ornate wrought iron railing, gaping between Graves, Modesty and Credence.  
  
“Goldstein,” Graves says with a sigh. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”  
  
“When Mister Fontaine told me, I had to see it for myself,” Tina says in awe. “Were you even there for five minutes before you went in wands blazing?”  
  
Graves frowns as Queenie giggles. “That sounds dangerously like a reprimand, Goldstein.”  
  
“No, sir,” she mutters, some redness to her cheeks. “I just… oh, _Merlin!”_  
  
Credence is staring at Tina in surprise. “You’ve been to Ma’s— the church,” he says. “You came in for the sermons.”  
  
Tina softens as she smiles at Credence. “Yes, I did,” she agrees. “It’s wonderful to see you here, Credence, so wonderful. I’m glad Mister Graves realized you belong with us.”  
  
Credence ducks his head down and Graves catches the sympathetic frown on Queenie’s face and makes sure to firmly shake his finger at her, lest she start spouting off whatever self-deprecating things Credence is thinking about himself. She mimes zipping her lips shut and he winks his thanks.  
  
“Modesty too?” Tina asks.  
  
“Just here to support her brother,” Graves says briskly. “And get some things of her own. Modesty, Credence, the Goldstein sisters. Tina and Queenie. Tina works for me and Queenie is who I told you about, Credence, in the Wand Permit Office.”  
  
“Talkin’ about me, Mister Graves? Aww,” Queenie says with a dimpled smile. “It’s so good to meet you, sweeties. You’re gonna be living with Mister Graves for a while, huh?”  
  
“They’re going to be— _what?”_ Tina asks, aghast, as she gapes at him. “What happened while I was gone?!”  
  
“I’ll brief you in two days, Goldstein,” Graves says with another frown. “This isn’t the time for it. We have… a lot to do today.” He raises his eyebrows. “Queenie, are you in today?”  
  
“Left sick, honey.”  
  
Graves rolls his eyes. “It’s not even nine— forget it,” he says as he waves his hand dismissively. “I could use your decidedly feminine touch. I’m not particularly well versed in what children like to put in their rooms these days. When Credence and I go to Jonker’s, would you be willing to lend a hand?”  
  
Queenie looks at Modesty and beams. “Aww, of course, honey,” she says. “Every little girl oughta have her room just the way she wants it.”  
  
“How about it, Modesty?” Graves asks with a smile as Modesty chews on her lip, looking between Queenie and Tina with suspicion, but some sort of longing too. “Credence will have to get a wand later and I promise you, the experience is very dull. Queenie can help you find things to decorate your room with.”  
  
“We don’t have money,” Modesty says quietly and looks down at her lap.  
  
“You do, actually,” Graves says and smiles as Credence shoots him a suspicious glance. He pulls out the box from his pocket and sets it on the table, opening it to reveal numerous rows of Dragots and Sprinks. “This belongs to you. Aid from MACUSA,” he says firmly, when Credence opens his mouth to protest. “For the unfortunate circumstances that led to you being barred from our world. _Your_ world. The Madam President suggests you put it into the bank for safekeeping and I agree with her. This is a step that’s important for every wizard to take and it’ll help you to not be on such shaky ground when you’re ready to make the leap.”  
  
“Leap?” Credence croaks.  
  
“To independence.”  
  
Modesty runs her fingers along the coins in awe, looking between them and Credence, hopeful.  
  
“It’s too much,” Credence whispers.  
  
“It’s the right amount,” Graves says quietly and reaches over to squeeze Credence’s shoulder. “It’s not charity. It’s a welcome home.”  
  
Credence looks at Graves for a while before he nods his acceptance. “Thank you, Mister Graves.”  
  
“Thank Madam Picquery,” Graves says and winks at Modesty when she begins to grin. He plucks out ten Dragots and hands five to each Barebone. “Don’t spend it all at once. But it should get you through the day. Ready to get a new wardrobe? Go on ahead, wait outside the cafe.”  
  
Credence eyes Graves and the Goldsteins but he walks inside the cafe, holding tightly onto his sister’s hand.  
  
“Look at you, goin’ all soft,” Queenie says.  
  
“Don’t tell anyone,” Graves warns. “I won’t be in the office for a couple of days. Not by my choice. But tell Abernathy I want a word with him on Monday, first thing.”  
  
“He’ll like that,” Queenie says wryly. “Especially comin’ from me.”  
  
“He’ll like what comes from me even less,” Graves says. “But a little fear might make him more willing to hear me out.” He smiles as Tina sighs. “How’d it go, Goldstein?”  
  
“Passed with flying colors, sir,” Tina says with a frown. “It was a little too easy, honestly.”  
  
“We don’t say that, Goldstein, it only makes law-breakers try harder,” Graves says. “Well done.” Tina tries to hide her smile, but fails. He looks at Queenie with a smirk. “Credence will be coming into the office with me for a few weeks, I imagine, while we learn the basics. He can’t remain in my office at all times for… various safety reasons, so I want you to show him around MACUSA. Let him see what we do, how our world works, how we live. What precious little time I have away from the office is going to be spent catching him up on seven years of school.”  
  
“Are you _trying_ to get Mister Abernathy to hate me, honey?”  
  
“Instilling fear and glaring and threatening his manhood, what have you,” Grave says with a wave of his hand. “He won’t give you any trouble or I’ll visit him downstairs.”  
  
“It does sound an awful lot better than wand permits,” Queenie says and smiles. “Will do, Mister Graves. I think Credence might need a gentle touch now and then.”  
  
“Are you saying I don’t have a gentle touch?”  
  
“You _are_ planning on threatening someone’s manhood, sir,” Tina says very seriously.  
  
Graves shrugs. “Work me and not-work me are very different people.”  
  
Tina snorts as Queenie laughs. “I think he’s right, Teenie. He did give an eight year old five Dragots,” she says. “Daddy never gave me that kinda money.”  
  
“Fortunately Modesty doesn’t know what a Dragot is,” Graves says. “But let her buy what she wants with them. Her greatest wishes are a bookshelf and a doll or two,” he adds grimly. “Convince her however you need that she has plenty of room to fill now.”  
  
They nod soberly, sharing a sympathetic glance, and he walks out of the cafe, where Credence and Modesty wait for him. They’re gazing at the steadily growing crowd with interest and Graves is relieved there is no fear in their eyes. He suspects that will come and go, too long under Mary Lou’s fist, but he hopes they can continue to look at the wizarding world with wonder.  
  
Queenie and Tina join them, Tina only to say goodbye and offer another heartfelt welcome to Credence and Modesty before she’s off, back to MACUSA.  
  
They all enter Madam Anita’s, who nods in approval at Graves’ outfit for a greeting, made by her own hand, before she and her assistant, a twitchy little man, get to work on Credence and Modesty. Anita helps Modesty, with Queenie’s direction, and Graves watches as her assistant takes Credence’s measurements, narrowing his eyes whenever he makes Credence flinch away from his touch.  
  
Credence looks overwhelmed when he offers samples of fabrics to choose from and the assistant looks close to losing his patience after he’s described them all, until Graves not so gently rips the fabric out of his hands and glares at him until he scampers away.  
  
“These are just the basics. For comfort, for style, for nights out, for formal occasions, for work, for physical activity,” Graves says as he slowly shifts through the fabric. “I don’t have a ball to attend until January, so we should be alright for now.”  
  
“A ball?” Credence asks croakily.  
  
“Joking,” Graves says and smirks as Credence sighs in relief. “I say we go with comfort and work for now. With the weather in mind, of course. Try these on and let me know if you like the material for winter coats.” He sets the samples aside and grabs two robes hanging nearby.  
  
“Listen to him, darling,” Anita says, sitting on a stool as she measures Modesty. “If anyone in here has any sense of style and comfort beyond myself, it’s Percival Graves.”  
  
Credence nods and blushes as he hurries into the fitting room that Graves points out.  
  
Queenie has gotten Modesty to giggle and grin through her measurements and Graves smiles as they go over fabrics and ideas for different outfits with Anita. Modesty touches the different materials with awe and reverence and his heart aches again, for how little they’ve both had. How little they’ve both enjoyed.  
  
“Mister Graves?” Credence’s voice asks from the fitting room.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“I think I’m stuck.”  
  
Graves chuckles and walks to the door. “How stuck?”  
  
“I’ve never worn a… a… whatever this is, I’ve never worn it before.”  
  
“Typical wizards’ winter robes,” Graves says. “Do you need help? Are you decent?”  
  
“...as decent as I can be right now.”  
  
Graves laughs again and unlocks the door before slipping inside. They aren’t small fitting rooms, and thank Merlin for that, with the way Credence is fighting with the robes. Graves catches his elbow before it can catch his sternum and fishes around the material before he rights it, pushing it gently over Credence’s head and helping him find the sleeves.  
  
He steps back to appraise him as Credence looks at himself in the mirror with a frown.  
  
“I look ridiculous,” he groans.  
  
“It’s just to get a feel for the material, the fit will be different later,” Graves says. “We only wear full robes like that at school or for formal occasions.”  
  
“Like a ball?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“No one can dance in this.”  
  
“I assure you we can. Some of us can even do it well,” Graves says and smiles as Credence glares suspiciously at him through the mirror. “Do you need help with the other one?”  
  
Credence gives the other robes a mournful look before he nods and begins to try and hike the other one off again, clumsy and tall and gangly, and far too endearing for Graves’ rapidly softening heart.  
  
He doesn’t mean to inhale as sharply as the way he does, when Credence pulls the material far enough up his back, and regrets it when Credence freezes. He lets the robes fall again, hiding the scars, and hunches in on himself, avoiding looking at Graves in the mirror.  
  
“I know it’s not appealing.”  
  
“Appealing,” Graves repeats flatly and Credence flinches, taking it the wrong way. “Credence. Look at me.”  
  
Credence doesn’t, so Graves goes to him, standing behind him and gently resting his hand on Credence’s arm. “Credence,” he says quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s not about being appealing or not. No one is going to ever see this and decide you look less _appealing._ They’re going to see it and know you never deserved it.”  
  
“I don’t want anyone to see it,” Credence whispers, voice thick. “No one should have to look. I’m sor—”  
  
“Don’t you dare apologize to me for what she did to you,” Graves hisses more angrily than he intended to. Credence doesn’t flinch away. “Don’t apologize to anyone for what she chose to do. There’s nothing wrong with you, there’s no wickedness in you, and there’s nothing wrong with the way you look. Scars only tell a story.”  
  
Credence sniffs. “Do wizards have scars?”  
  
Graves pauses, then sighs. “We have ways to avoid certain scarring,” he says quietly. “But not all.”  
  
“Do you have scars, Mister Graves?”  
  
His heart quickens then, uncomfortably, but he won’t lie. He won’t ever lie to Credence and he suspects that one day that will be a problem. “I do.”  
  
“From being an Auror?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Credence looks at him, through the mirror, frowning, and Graves sighs, setting his hands on Credence’s shoulders. “You and I are more alike than you know. More alike than I’d want anyone to be to me. Listen to me, Credence. The scars they leave us with don’t make us. The scars they leave us with don’t _break_ us. They’re maps, Credence, maps that show us how we got from _there_ to _here._ Don’t make them anything more.”  
  
Credence is trembling under his hands and when he turns around and wraps his arms around Graves, Graves can do nothing more than return the embrace, resting one hand on his back and the other against his neck.  
  
“Who?” Credence asks.  
  
Graves doesn’t have to ask what he means. He grinds his teeth, so used to keeping it inside, locked away, a dusty chest to never be opened again. He hasn’t looked at it in so long, mostly forgets it’s there, but for Credence, he’ll wipe some of the cobwebs away.  
  
“My father.”  
  
Credence clings a little tighter and Graves lets him.

Clings a little tighter himself.  
  
When they do separate, Graves watches as Credence pulls off the robes and sets them aside to grab the other pair. He knows what it means, Credence choosing to trust him this way, so he lets himself look. Lets himself see the lashes across Credence’s back, some old and faded, some newer and thicker. Some still heavily bruised, mottled purple and black, and he’s angry with himself then.  
  
“I didn’t ask if you had any other injuries,” he says. “A few nights ago. I should have. I’m sorry, Credence, you must be in pain.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, Mister Graves,” Credence says as he maneuvers the robes in his hands so he might not get lost in them again. “I’m used to it.”  
  
That makes Graves’ eye twitch a little but he shakes his head. “When we’re done today, I’ll apply some cream that will take away the bruising, if you’d like. It tends to help you relax, as well.”  
  
Credence nods, not quite meeting Graves’ eye. He pulls the robes on without much trouble and looks at himself in the mirror. “Thank you,” he says. “I’d like that.”  
  
Graves squeezes Credence’s shoulder and leaves the fitting room with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, and thinks about the healing he had to do himself, once he left home. It hadn’t been healthy healing, not at first, throwing himself into Auror training and behaving as recklessly as possible. Drinking too much scotch, taking too many strangers from the bar home, continuing on the path of ruining his mind that his father had laid before him.  
  
Seraphina had helped him through it, cut his hair when he wasn’t fit enough to go out, threw out the scotch he bought and gracefully bared his rage after it. Grasped his chin in her hand and made him look her in the eye when she told him what he was going to do to himself if he didn’t shape up. That he wasn’t going to make it to his twenty-third birthday and all of the dreams he’d had, of becoming the Director, the position his ancestor created, would never be realized.  
  
He owes Seraphina his life, let alone his career. He’d excelled quickly once he’d forgiven himself and paved a path of his own. She had too, right alongside him, her ambitions more political, and now they sit on their thrones, and it’s… good.  
  
Life is good. Always challenging with twists no one can predict, but _good._  
  
He wants to tell Credence that it can be that way for him too, that it _will_ be, if Graves has any say in it. But if he can’t get the words out, he’ll show Credence. He’ll work every day to show him that life can be enjoyable and kind, and, most of all, not always against him.  
  
Once Credence emerges from the fitting room and the assistant reappears, looking appropriately cowed, Graves tells him what Credence needs and the materials he’d like his shirts and trousers to be made of. When asked about colors, Credence merely shrugs and asks them to be made dark.  
  
It doesn’t really surprise Graves.  
  
It’ll take a few days to get their new wardrobes delivered, so Graves has Modesty and Credence pick out a few outfits, along with pajamas, that have already been made and are for sale. It doesn’t surprise him when they choose the most plain and least expensive items they can find either. He won’t tell them that Anita’s clothing can’t be rivaled in New York and that they are getting quality clothing whether they’d like it or not.  
  
Gringotts is next, and with a little preparation from Graves and Queenie, the Barebones don’t stare all that much at the goblins that run the bank. Thankfully the bank manager is familiar with Graves, from the many times he’s had to request his assistance with a case, and it only takes a bit of finagling to convince him to open a new vault for Credence and Modesty without registered wands. Graves hands over the bank box and the manager counts the coins, glancing suspiciously between the Barebones until Graves raises his eyebrows and he’s smiling again.  
  
They create two keys and write an official certification for the vault, with its information written onto it, and Graves tucks everything away after, promising they’ll find a safe place for them at home.  
  
The rest of their shopping is more mundane, but Graves can’t help his smile, as he watches Credence and Modesty gaze at the moving pictures and advertisements in the book shop, or the barrels upon barrels of potion ingredients in the apothecary, and even the variety of quills and inks (some boasting grammar correction or intentional spills, if the user becomes distracted) in the school supplies store. Their bags grow heavier with purchases, until Graves lightens them with a wave of his hand, and he promises to let Credence buy his own wand after fighting off his increasingly desperate attempts to stop Graves from paying for everything. Modesty seems particularly interested in the sweets shop when they pass it and Graves asks Queenie to take over from there.  
  
“Will you be alright?” Credence asks his sister.  
  
She grins and nods as she peers at the chocolate reindeer who are grazing on coconut flakes in the shop’s windows. “Will you be, Credence?” she asks, like an afterthought.  
  
Credence laughs a little, seeming to take comfort in his sister’s ease, and nods. “Yes,” he says. “See you soon.”  
  
Modesty flutters her hand and Queenie laughs as they disappear into the packed sweets shop.  
  
Graves leads Credence down to a quieter end of the street and looks at the familiar wand shop, _Jonker’s_ written in real pearl across wood painted black above a glass storefront. Graves has been here far too many times to count, not something that would have ever crossed his mind when his own wand chose him at eleven, and he marvels at the novelty of entering the shop not on business.  
  
It’s quiet, the smell of wood dust and leather in the air, comfortably warm and brightly lit.  
  
“Percival Graves,” Mister Jonker says as he emerges from between the shelves filled with long, thin boxes. “I should be honored. Only two and a half weeks since your last visit.”  
  
Graves smiles thinly. “Fortunately for us both, I’m not here on MACUSA business,” he says and gestures for Credence, who is peering around nervously, to come closer. “We’re looking for a wand.”  
  
“Indeed?” Mister Jonker asks as he pushes his glasses up his nose and comes around the counter. “First wand?” he asks in surprise as he looks Credence up and down. “I wondered. You look very much like her.”  
  
Graves pauses and looks at Mister Jonker with his brow furrowed.  
  
Credence frowns in confusion. “Her?”  
  
“Your mother, of course.”  
  
Graves’ mouth falls open and Credence staggers back a step, as if he has been struck, and Graves reaches for him quickly, grasping his shoulder. Credence has gone even more pale than he normally is and Graves ignores his own frantically beating heart to steady him.  
  
Credence is already trembling and Graves gestures at a few chairs by the windows until one slides over and he can sit Credence in it. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. “It’s alright.”  
  
“Ah,” Mister Jonker says softly, with understanding, and disappears into the shelves.  
  
“M-My mother was… she was…” Credence stammers, pressing his palms against his eyes. “She was a _witch._ She was here, and she… she…”  
  
 _She left me at an orphanage,_ Graves hears the words Credence doesn’t speak, and brushes some of his hair back from his forehead.  
  
“Credence,” he says. “We’ll find the answers.”  
  
“I don’t know if I want to know them, Mister Graves,” Credence says as he lowers his hands and looks up at Graves, his eyes shiny, but tired, so tired. “It hurts more, already, to know she was here.”  
  
“I know,” Graves says quietly. “But there are many reasons she might have made the choices she did. Many that could be understandable. Many that might mean you have family out there.”  
  
“They didn’t want me, Mister Graves. No one came looking.”  
  
“They might not have been able to find you, Credence, once you were adopted. But we don’t know anything yet. We will soon, if you’d like. For good or ill.”  
  
Mister Jonker has returned to the counter and has his eyes lowered respectfully. Credence looks at him, exhaustion clear in his eyes, in the droop of his shoulders, and he nods. He looks as if he could sleep the week away, too tired of the world and what ill fate it has offered him so far, and Graves aches for him.  
  
A third day off might be merely to help Credence recover and Graves supposes Seraphina guessed he would need it. That Graves might need it too.  
  
Credence stands and they walk to the counter. “I apologize, sir,” he mumbles as he looks at his shoes. “I never knew my mother.”  
  
“No,” Mister Jonker agrees as he inspects Credence closely, a thin box on the counter next to his hand. “Forgive me for startling you, young man.”  
  
“Credence Barebone, sir.”  
  
“Barebone,” Mister Jonker says and looks at Graves, sharing a long look with him. Barebone is not a wizarding name, after all. “Hmm. Are you still interested in purchasing your first wand, Mister Barebone?”  
  
Credence glances at Graves and he smiles tightly. “Whatever you want.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Credence says and looks at Mister Jonker. “Can you tell me my mother’s name?”  
  
Graves grits his teeth, fighting the irrational desire to call the day off, because Credence can’t possibly bear more. But he looks at Credence and the steel in his eyes and wonders if it’s his own heart that is having trouble bearing the twists and turns that Credence Barebone’s life offers. He has steel of his own, carefully shaped and strengthened, but not aiding him the last few days.  
  
Mister Jonker peers over his glasses at Credence for a while. “Your mother’s wand chose her rather quickly,” he says slowly, his voice peaceful and serene. “The first box I opened, in fact. A less common wood, black walnut, with an unusually contrary core. You see, I favor wampus hair in the wands I make, not so temperamental, but occasionally a different core may call. A phoenix does not offer its feathers often, a choosy and particular sort of creature, which makes the wand much the same. Black walnut, while favoring those of good instincts, can suffer from a witch’s inner conflict, losing power if it senses deception in the heart of her, while a phoenix feather offers pride and immense power, and will fight the effects of black walnut, if it can. A volatile wand it makes, indeed, and I have made very few of them. One went to your mother. Another is here.”  
  
He opens it carefully and inside lays a handsome wand, black wood and as straight as Graves’ own, reasonably long in length. It has Mister Jonker’s signature mother-of-pearl inlay, twirling around the base of the wand, more delicate than the wand itself. Credence is staring intently between Mister Jonker and the wand, drinking in what he has to say.  
  
“The phoenix feather in this wand did not come from the same bird or it might have proven even more volatile than the other, if the witch who used it were to become plagued with inner conflict. A twin, you see, and twins often feel each other's pain. But I made this wand fifty years ago, not long after the other, and it has not called to anyone as of yet. Give it a try, Mister Barebone, and I’ll tell you your mother’s name.”  
  
Credence is breathing shakily, shallowly, tears in his eyes, but he nods. He looks down at the wand for a while and Graves watches, his own breath not entirely steady. When Credence picks up the wand and Mister Jonker gestures for him to give it a flick, he turns away from the counter and does so.  
  
The magic that bursts forth from the wand is immensely, shockingly powerful, red and gold and silver and blue, like paint carried in a gust of wind, knocking boxes from shelves and fluttering papers from behind the counter, and crackling through the air, making the hair on their arms stand on end.  
  
Graves has never seen such a reaction before and he gapes as he looks between the wand and Credence, reevaluating all of the plans he’s been making to teach Credence, and adding _caution_ to them. Caution because Credence is vastly more powerful than he had been expecting; whether that is from his magic being suppressed and now being set free, or because he was merely born into power of such magnitude, Graves doesn’t know.  
  
“I suspected as much,” Mister Jonker says, not unkindly, as he fixes his crooked glasses on his nose. “Well done, Mister Barebone.”  
  
Credence’s shoulders are heaving as he breathes in deeply, staring at the tip of his wand with wonder and a bit of fear. He sets it back in its box and clenches his fingers into a tight fist, the loss of the first connection, the bond, familiar to Graves. But he looks at Mister Jonker then and holds himself taller, more sure.  
  
“Cassandra Wright,” Mister Jonker says quietly. “That was her name, when she came to me.”  
  
The confidence bleeds from Credence then and he slumps with the weight of his mother’s name on his shoulders and Graves itches to grab him, to keep him steady, but his mind is racing.  
  
“Wright, you said?” he asks quietly, not looking away from Credence.  
  
“Yes, Mister Graves. Of the Wright family.”


	2. Chapter 2

They finish the day with hot butterbeer and Graves is glad for it, when it begins to snow. Credence is quiet, not joining their conversations, and Queenie peers at him now and then with a frown. She looks at Graves for confirmation and he can only nod, imagining what must be running through Credence’s mind.  
  
Graves puts an order in at Mulberry’s, a fine dining establishment in Dragon Street, to be ready at his apartment shortly. Queenie stands at his side as he orders at the counter and he quietly tells her to go back to MACUSA and inform Tina that she is to stop whatever she’s doing, find all information on the Wright family that she can, and to send it to him as quickly as possible.  
  
They walk to the brick wall, which opens for them, and step into the courtyard, which is a flurry of white compared to just this morning. The inn inside is warm, filled with witches and wizards, and they say goodbye to Queenie in front of the large fireplace.  
  
“Thank you, Miss Queenie,” Modesty says with a smile. “Will I see you again?”  
  
“Sooner than you think, honey,” Queenie says. She smiles as she looks at Credence. “It was nice meetin’ you two. Take care, huh?”  
  
Credence nods politely and Graves squeezes his shoulder and thanks Queenie himself. Once he has, he guides them into the fireplace and floos them all back to his apartment. They’re both still a bit unsteady when they get there, but there’s no screaming, and he’s sure it’ll become natural to both of them soon.  
  
The amount of bags, no matter how light they are, is frankly absurd, and they sort through whose is whose on the sofa. Once Modesty has her bags sorted, they take her to her room and Graves takes off the charm on them so they can begin to sort through what she has treated herself with.  
  
There are quite a number of dolls and a stuffed wampus cat and mooncalf. He’s glad for the bedsheets, which are pink, with splashes of white and gold, much better than his own steel grey ones currently on the bed. The bookshelf will be delivered tomorrow, Modesty informs him, so they stack the multitude of books, mostly children’s tales, on top of the wardrobe for now.  
  
Toys of many varieties find their places, along with a few pairs of shoes and additional outfits, and a _massive_ bag of different sweets, until Credence groans, _“Modesty.”_  
  
“Look how much I still have left, Credence!” Modesty says and reaches into her pocket, producing two Dragots and so many Sprinks they’re flowing out from her between her fingers. “I’ll save it for later!”  
  
Credence frowns at the coins and narrows his eyes as he looks at Graves. “That only means—”  
  
“That you are far more frugal than I expected you to be,” Graves interrupts and smiles as Modesty beams. “I think you did well. This is…” he trails off and looks around the room, which now looks like a proper child’s room. “It’s good. The way it should be.”  
  
“Thank you, Mister Graves,” Modesty says and hugs him around the waist. He pats her back until she pulls away and grabs one of her toys, sitting on the ground and promptly forgetting they exist.  
  
Graves chuckles and leads Credence out of the room. Credence goes into his own room with his purchases and Graves walks to the front door when there’s a knock on it. He thanks the delivery wizard and hauls dinner into the kitchen, setting out numerous boxes on the counter. Credence appears a moment later, holding the box with his wand in it.  
  
“Keep it in your pocket,” Graves says. “And get used to keeping it there.”  
  
“It won’t, um… do anything?”  
  
Graves is reminded of all that they must go over and smiles a little. “You’ll need a hand on it and proper intent for it to do any damage. Wandless magic takes many years of practice to perfect. It’ll be safe in your pocket. Just don’t put your hand on it unless you mean to use it because accidents can still happen and sometimes those accidents are permanent.”  
  
Credence looks more pale at this, but he nods and takes his wand out, admiring it for a moment before he stuffs it into his pocket. “How many spells are there?”  
  
“I couldn’t give you a count without checking the registered spells at MACUSA and that’s not counting unregistered ones. But plenty,” Graves says as he gathers plates and glasses. “There are many different branches of magic your wand can be used for. Charms, Defense, Transfiguration, Potions, in some cases.”  
  
“I’m sure you’re very good with Defense, Mister Graves.”  
  
“One of the best,” Graves says and smiles as Credence does. “One of the best at them all, I’m afraid, Ilvermorny was a breeze.” He frowns. “Except History of Magic.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Arrogance,” Graves replies with a wry smile. “I came from a family that prided themselves on just how much wizarding history they knew. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize until my last few years in school that my family was extremely prejudiced and I knew shit about the actual history of magic. Only their pureblood fantasy of it.”  
  
Credence frowns. “Pureblood?”  
  
Graves huffs a little. “Pureblood. A fancy term for a long line of inbreds,” he mutters darkly. When Credence’s eyebrows shoot up, Graves shrugs. “My parents were third cousins, twice removed. Some wizarding families think blood is what makes them special. I think your deeds in life decide that for you.”  
  
Modesty appears before Credence can reply to that and Graves sets them up with dinner, braised lamb and garlic mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables and crème brulée for dessert. They look a little lost by the meal, a rather standard December meal, but he supposes they aren’t used to such rich food and will have to reevaluate what he brings into the apartment, if he wants them to get any meat on their bones.  
  
“Are you familiar with Shepherd’s Pie?” he asks. When they nod, he says, “Mix the lamb and vegetables in with the potatoes. It’ll be the best Shepherd’s Pie you’ve had.”  
  
That does the trick and Graves eats more slowly than them, his mind whirring through the numerous things he has to get done. They have so much left to discover about Credence and then he will have to look into Modesty’s background, to see who her family was, but he’s got a bit of time for that, at least.  
  
He cleans the kitchen and listens to Credence and Modesty talk down the hall, peering occasionally at his window, but no owl appears. He had hoped Tina might send him something tonight, but the Wright family is an old one, once famous, and he imagines she has to dig deeper than they usually do to find what he’s asked for.  
  
When Credence is done tucking Modesty into bed, she asks Graves if he can light her room with green and red bubbles and he does so, glad someone has found the Christmas spirit.  
  
They shut her door and Graves gestures for Credence to follow him. He walks across the apartment and through his bedroom to his bathroom. Credence looks hesitant to be in his space, but he lets him look, lets him get familiar with it. He doesn’t want Credence to feel like he’s a stranger in the apartment.  
  
Graves opens the cabinet in the bathroom and pulls out the tub of half-used cream, proudly announcing itself as _Bruise-Away!_. He shows it to Credence, who doesn’t seem to know if it’s serious or not, until Graves asks him to remove his shirt.  
  
“If you’d like,” he says quietly when Credence hesitates. “They’ll be gone by morning with this, rather than a few weeks from now.”  
  
Credence nods and takes his shirt off. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror and Graves guides him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. He opens the tub of cream, the soft scent of lavender and the spice of peppermint filling the air, and puts a good amount on his hand.  
  
“Alright?” he asks.  
  
Credence nods.  
  
“It’ll be cold for a moment,” Graves warns before he begins to rub the cream over the mottled bruising, from Credence’s right shoulder, down to the bottom of his left rib cage.  
  
Graves is busy imagining all sorts of things he’d like to do to Mary Lou Barebone, when Credence asks it.  
  
“They’re evil, aren’t they?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“My family. My mother’s family.”  
  
Graves smiles a little to himself as he gets more cream. “The Wright family is famous for one particular thing, Credence,” he says quietly. “An ancestor of yours, Bowman Wright, is well known to most of the wizarding world. Or, at least, the large part of the wizarding world that follows Quidditch.”  
  
“...Quidditch?”  
  
“Quidditch,” Graves says as he applies the cream, frowning at the way he can feel and see Credence’s spine. “It’s a wizarding sport. _The_ wizarding sport, depending on who you ask. Bowman Wright invented the Golden Snitch. And, Credence, the Golden Snitch is the most coveted and beloved ball in the game. Its fate decides which team wins a Quidditch match. Its design is genius and respected as one of the best to come out of the wizarding world.”  
  
Credence is quiet for a long while. “How long ago did he live?”  
  
“Hmm… he lived through the sixteenth century, if I remember correctly.”  
  
“That long ago?”  
  
“Yes. His name has clearly lived on, but he’s not from a pureblood family,” Graves says. “He lived in England. I’m not sure when or why your family came to America, but we’ll find out.”  
  
“So we don’t know what any of my other family is like,” Credence mutters. “Only him.”  
  
“Fortunately for you, Credence, you are speaking to the man that knows every dark wizarding family there is in America, and most outside of it, and I have never come across a member of the Wright family. Due to any nefarious reasons anyway.”  
  
Credence has slowly softened under his touch, be that from the soothing effects of the cream, or what Graves is saying, he isn’t sure, but he’ll take it. He finishes applying the cream and squeezes Credence’s shoulder briefly before he stands and puts the tub away.  
  
“Mister Graves?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Your family is… pureblood.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But you’re not married.”  
  
Graves raises his eyebrows and glances at Credence, who is still sitting on the bathtub, but turned his way now. “You’re wondering who might continue the line?”  
  
Credence nods. “Do you have siblings?”  
  
Graves remembers long, raven hair, a sweet smile, and crystal clear blue eyes. Gentle hands, washing away the ash, applying burn-paste, paste he can still smell, as if there’s a bowl of the orange concoction under his nose.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Credence says hastily. “I shouldn’t ask such personal questions.”  
  
He blinks and shakes himself. “No… no, it’s alright,” Graves says and sighs. “I’ve asked you so many, I think you might be due a few of your own. To answer your question, I don’t have any siblings. Not anymore. But the line would have been expected to be continued by me anyway.”  
  
“I’m sorry. Are you…” Credence trails off and looks a bit green. “One day?”  
  
Graves laughs. “Do I plan on fathering more Graves’? No. No, I do not,” he says and smiles wryly. “Not only do I have no interest in a wife or children of my own, I’d be proud to see my name die with me.”  
  
Credence looks at his feet for a while, his brow furrowed. “Does the wizarding world have the— the same laws, as the no-maj one? For marriage?”  
  
“Stricter,” Graves mutters and frowns as he sees Credence’s shoulders droop. “Only in that relationships and marriages are forbidden between our world and the no-maj one.”  
  
Credence looks sharply at him. “A wizard can’t… he can’t fall in love with a no-maj?”  
  
“He can, to his detriment,” Graves says. “It’s illegal. It’s illegal for no-majs to know about our world at all unless a witch or wizard is born to them. Thank Merlin for immigrants, or we’d all die out here in the next few generations.” He shakes his head. “Europe is more lenient. There’s still secrecy, but wizardkind are allowed to marry and have children with whoever they wish.”  
  
“That sounds better than here, Mister Graves, if you don’t mind me saying,” Credence mumbles, his ears red.  
  
“Most would agree with you,” Graves says with a smile. “They’ll change the law one day. But that’s not my department.”  
  
“What about other laws?”  
  
“Which ones?”  
  
“For what’s considered sinful.”  
  
Graves opens his mouth, then closes it, and casually leans against the counter, so he doesn’t make a break for the door. “Oh. Ah… hmm,” he manages. “They aren’t illegal in the wizarding world and hardly considered _sinful._ As long as it’s magic blood you’re marrying into, no one cares much beyond that. But it’s not common either. No-majs make it difficult enough, living day to day among them, so you won’t see it done openly, even in our spaces. Not usually anyway and merely out of habit.”  
  
Credence stares at him for a while, looking for that lie, and Graves watches him in return and wants to ask. It would only make sense to ask, but he won’t - Credence has had a hard enough time as it is, and they’ll be living together for a while, he suspects.  
  
There’s time for that conversation later.  
  
“Thank you, Mister Graves,” Credence says and puts his shirt back on. “I feel better now.”  
  
“Good,” Graves says. “Those bruises won’t bother you anymore.”  
  
They walk out of his bedroom and Graves pours himself a glass of firewhiskey and sits on his sofa. Credence joins him, turning down the offer for a drink again, and gazes out of the window at the city below. Graves watches him, the loose line of his shoulders, his smooth, relaxed face, the city's lights shining in his eyes.  
  
He’s heartbreakingly beautiful, Graves lets himself think just this once, and pushes it away a moment later. To be locked away and forgotten, its proper place.  
  
“I know you aren’t fond of Christmas, Mister Graves,” Credence says as he continues to gaze out at the city. “But would you be against a Christmas tree? Modesty would love it. I… I think I might enjoy it too. If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”  
  
And how can he say no to that?  
  
“Sure,” he says and smiles as Credence looks at him. “Whatever you’d like.”  
  
Credence smiles, wide and true, and fractures Graves’ heart just a little bit more.  
  
——  
  
Modesty spends most of the next morning, after breakfast, in her room, enjoying her new belongings, while Credence curls up on the sofa under a blanket and reads his new _A History of Magic_ school book. Graves sees him touch his pocket now and then and remembers the same urge he had when he finally had a wand of his own.  
  
Even wizarding families are in awe by their wands, for at least the first year, the freedom to do magic on their own.  
  
Graves knows he has to do the grocery shopping at some point and is preparing himself for the adventure that will be when he hears Credence yelp out in the living room and rushes into it, fearing an accident or something worse, but when he slides into the room, the fear drains out of him.  
  
He laughs instead, as he sees Credence gaping at the window, where an eagle owl sits, holding such a large package that he’s occasionally slipping off the windowsill and fluttering himself back onto it.  
  
“It’s alright,” Graves says as he walks to the window. “It’s just Brooks.”  
  
“Brooks?” Credence asks weakly. “It has a name?”  
  
“Of course he does. He works in my department at MACUSA,” Graves says as he unlocks the window with a wave of his hand. Normally there aren’t any windows this high up that open, but he’d had to put one that did in himself, for this exact reason. He opens it and Brooks flies inside, landing on the armchair and depositing his package.  
  
He promptly falls off the armchair and onto his back, his feet stuck up in the air.  
  
“Did he die?” Credence wails.  
  
Graves has a hard time not laughing, but he supposes that it’s only been a few days, and Credence must think the wizarding world is mad in some ways. Wands and goblins and owls that deliver the post. What’s normal to him is not normal to Credence.  
  
“He’s just being dramatic,” Graves says and smiles as Credence stares at Brooks with concern, clearly not so sure about that. “He really is. Brooks, you’re embarrassing yourself.”  
  
Brooks lets out a mournful cry but he does hop back onto his feet and come to Graves, plucking at his trousers, a bit more angrily than he usually does. Graves opens a drawer in his coffee table and pulls out a few treats, handing one to Brooks. He hands the rest to Credence, who looks at him as if he does indeed think at least Graves is mad, but he eventually takes them. Brooks flies onto the sofa next to him and peers expectantly at his hand and Graves smiles as Credence tentatively feeds him the rest of the treats.  
  
Graves picks up the package, which does have some heftiness to it. “Tina’s been hard at work,” he mutters. “Brooks, shouldn’t you be getting back to MACUSA?”  
  
Brooks is currently enjoying a scratch from Credence, turning his head this way and that, and he gives Graves a reproachful look. But he does fly off of the sofa and soar out of the window and Graves locks it again. He adds a second charm to it, so that it only opens for himself, and wonders how many other things he’s going to come across in the apartment that he hadn’t previously thought about childproofing.  
  
“Are those cases?” Credence asks, after watching Brooks disappear into the morning sky.  
  
“No,” Graves answers as he opens the package and peers at the numerous files inside. “It’s history.”  
  
“History?”  
  
“On a certain Wright family.”  
  
Credence’s mouth falls open and he gets up from the sofa, coming closer and peering down at the sealed files in the boxes. “My family? You requested records?”  
  
“I did,” Graves says. He peers at Credence for a moment, who eventually catches him staring, his ears red. “Do you mind if I give this a cursory glance before I let you do your own digging? If there’s anything in here, classified or otherwise…”  
  
“It’s alright, Mister Graves,” Credence mumbles. “That’s probably a good idea.”  
  
Graves nods and sighs with a bit of relief, patting Credence’s arm. “I’ll start reading through after we’ve gotten some groceries. And maybe a few other things.”  
  
“More shopping?”  
  
“You barely spent anything yesterday,” Graves says and smiles as Credence shrugs, a bit of defiance in the gesture, to Graves’ delight. “There’s a Christmas market not far from here. We can find a tree there and ice skates, if you’d like.”  
  
Credence’s eyes light up at that and he smiles. “Please, Mister Graves,” he says. “Are we going now?”  
  
Graves chuckles. “We can,” he says. “Get your sister ready. Bundle up, it’s going to snow in a few hours.”  
  
After Credence and Modesty get ready and Graves inspects them, glad for the warm clothes they now have, they floo out of the apartment and back to the inn. Graves leads them out onto the no-maj street, the snow turned to slush here by automobiles, the wind biting their cheeks.  
  
He’s reluctant to take them by Apparition until he feels they’re ready, but thankfully it isn’t that long of a walk from the inn. They pass a no-maj shopping center and Graves leads them into a small grocery store. He can see the disappointment in their eyes as they look around, perhaps hoping for more than the typical no-maj shopping and Graves smiles to himself.  
  
“Director Graves,” Ephriam says from behind the counter. “We’ve just got a shipment in from Edinburgh, sir.”  
  
Graves points at him. “Good man,” he says. They pass the counter and walk into the storage room in the back and Graves smirks a little as he sees that Credence and Modesty look more excited now. “You’ll find our world hidden all around this city.”  
  
It takes a bit of convincing for Credence and Modesty to believe that if they walk into an unassuming, white wall at the back of the storage room, they won’t break their noses. He holds their hands and tells them to walk with confidence and soon they emerge on the other side of the wall. Modesty gasps and Credence makes a noise of surprise as the wizarding market is laid before them.  
  
It’s far larger than most no-maj grocery stores and with far more offerings, many from outside of America. Graves hands them both baskets and takes one of his own and leads them through the crowds of witches and wizards.  
  
Fruits and vegetables are much the same, with a few exceptions, such as the Dirigible plums and self-peeling sprouts. The Barebones seem overwhelmed by the produce and Graves grimly thinks that it can be hard to come by for poor no-majs. They don’t pick out as much as he would like them to and he suspects that will continue to be a problem for quite a while. He loads his own basket with a variety of them to make up for it.  
  
There are numerous different selections for the holiday season, roasted chestnuts and a variety of egg nogs and pastries, and desserts in the bakery, decorated for Christmas. He avoids those for now, as large as Modesty’s eyes are, and has the butcher wrap up a few different meat selections. Breakfast cereals and oatmeal are easy enough and Credence and Modesty merely watch as he chooses different juices and teas that he thinks they might like.  
  
He picks up a few bottles of Pure Malt Whiskey for himself, fresh from Edinburgh.  
  
Once their baskets are overflowing, more than he usually purchases, and isn’t that a novel thing, Graves pays and between him and Credence, they manage to make it back to the inn without too much trouble.  
  
The refrigerator and ice box have never looked so full and Graves thinks there’s something right about it. Something right about his apartment steadily becoming more lived in, rather than the place he merely tries to catch up on sleep and reading, if he has the time.  
  
It’s the same sort of song and dance to get to the Christmas market, which is held not far from MACUSA, behind a dilapidated lot. Credence asks why no-majs don’t notice them entering it and Graves tells him that they don’t tend to look for anything beyond the tip of their noses.  
  
It’s another wall to go through and beyond it is a winding cobblestone street, filled with carts and stands, and decorated thoroughly for Christmas. Garland hangs from street lamps and baubles float high above them, green and red, gold and silver, a nice splash of color to compliment the grey skies. Snowflakes as big as their palms, made from real snow, dangle from the canopies covering the stands. It smells like roasted chestnuts and spiced cider, warm chocolate and freshly popped kettle corn.  
  
Many stands are overflowing with popular items to buy as gifts for all ages. Remembralls, sweets, handmade quilts, cleaning supplies, timepieces, jewelry, Quidditch paraphernalia, and a rather alarming amount of children’s toys. Graves hasn’t been here in a very, very long time, and he’d normally scoff at it all, but one look at the wonder and joy on the faces of the Barebones has him softening to it all.  
  
They sip on spiced cider as they wander leisurely through the market, until Graves spots a stand that’s selling skates, and leaves Credence there with the instruction to not pay a full Dragot for them. He takes Modesty to look at Christmas trees and has to repeatedly remind her that his apartment is not twenty feet high, whenever she picks out a tree she likes. She eventually settles on a tree that’s only a foot or so taller than Graves, but wide and full, a Fraser fir. Once it’s been tagged for them, he leads her to a stand not far away that sells a variety of handmade Christmas ornaments and tree toppers.  
  
Credence joins them then, a brown paper bag in his arms, and tells Modesty it’s a surprise when she asks. Graves glances in the bag when she’s not looking and sees a beautiful pair of skates, pink with gold trim, their tag boasting that they are _no-slip, guaranteed._ He smiles at Credence and feels his heart constrict, just a little, as Credence smiles back, wide and _happy,_ happy that he’s finally been able to do this for his sister, happy that he will not be punished for it.  
  
Happy that his life is starting to make sense. Happy that he’s found somewhere he belongs, even if it’ll still take some getting used to.  
  
If Graves was choosing the ornaments to decorate their tree, he thinks he’d go with a uniform sort of look, a theme that makes sense, but that’s not what the Barebones have in mind. They pick out a variety of different colored and shaped ornaments, no method to their madness, and Graves decides that he likes it better that way.  
  
 _Helping you as much as you’re helping them,_ he thinks wryly.  
  
Credence insists on paying for them and Graves lets him without much fuss.  
  
They buy kettle corn and cups of Belgian hot chocolate with fresh whipped cream and find a bench to sit on when it begins to snow. Modesty leans against Credence and Credence leans against Graves and he drapes his arm behind them, warmed by far more than the hot chocolate.  
  
“A lot of people stare at you, Mister Graves,” Modesty says as she munches from her bag of kettle corn.  
  
“They really do,” Credence agrees as he looks at a few passing families, parents glancing their way.  
  
“They normally see me in the paper or hear from me, when it’s required, on the radio. Don’t often see me in person,” Graves says. As Credence blinks at him, he shrugs. “I’m the Director of Magical Security, Credence. I have to inform and update the public about any dangers that might surface. Or give interviews to the press about certain crimes that take place.”  
  
“The entire wizarding world knows your face then,” Credence says and sounds slightly overwhelmed. “I suppose I should have realized it… you did say you’re an important man.” He looks a bit green. “Won’t they wonder?”  
  
“Hmm?” Graves asks. “About you two, you mean? I wouldn’t worry about that, Credence. Even people like me are entitled to a personal life.”  
  
“Will they think we’re criminals?” Modesty asks cheerfully.  
  
“You _are_ very dangerous looking, Miss Barebone,” Graves says and smiles as she giggles. “I’m not a celebrity, Credence,” he says more quietly, when Credence doesn’t look reassured. “I’m a public authority figure. Your face isn’t going to be in the paper.”  
  
Credence nods as he stares at his cup of hot chocolate. “And we won’t ruin your reputation?”  
  
Graves laughs, unable to help it, but he squeezes Credence’s shoulder in apology when Credence shoots him a frown. “I don’t think my reputation can be ruined by sitting next to a wizard and his _incredibly intimidating_ sister.”  
  
Modesty beams.  
  
“I’ve put away enough dark wizards that were responsible for immense grief, in and out of our world, that people won’t remember me for anything else,” he tells Credence. “You’re safe with me, in many different ways.”  
  
“I’d like it to stay that way,” Credence says softly. “If it can.”  
  
Before Graves can ask exactly what Credence means by _that,_ Modesty gasps and points at a creature slinking across the street from them, in between carts.  
  
“It’s a cat!” she says and frowns at its plumed tail. “I think.”  
  
Graves chuckles. “It’s a Kneazle,” he says. “Close enough to a housecat that many no-maj households have half-Kneazles in their homes and don’t know it.”  
  
“Are they dangerous?”  
  
“They can be aggressive, if they don’t trust you. They’re best bought as kittens but they have to be registered with MACUSA.”  
  
“Mama said cats aren’t good for anything except keeping mice and rats out. She said they have black hearts.”  
  
“She was wrong about a lot of things, Modesty,” Credence says quietly. “Don’t you think?”  
  
Modesty debates that for a while. She shrugs and nods. “I think she had to have been,” she says. “She was wrong about Mister Graves and witches and magic. I think she must have been wrong about everything.”  
  
She doesn’t seem to understand why Credence hugs her then and kisses the top of her head, merely smiles at him, and resumes watching the passing crowds.  
  
When it starts to get busier and the snowfall becomes heavier, Graves takes the Barebones and their purchases home, including the first Christmas tree he’ll have had in a place he has lived since Ilvermorny. They move one of the sofas to make room for it, across the room from the fireplace, and once they’ve got it arranged, Credence and Modesty set to decorating it.  
  
Modesty’s bookshelf is delivered not long after and Graves puts it in her room and with a wave of his wand, the books line themselves up on the shelves. There’s plenty of room for more to be added, in due time, and he walks back into the living room and is presented with a shimmering silver and gold star by Modesty.  
  
He laughs, though he is touched by the gesture, and finishes the tree with it. It sparkles, splashes of speckled light reflected off of the walls, and he smiles as he looks over the ornaments, all placed with care. He wonders what Seraphina would say if she could see him now, merely two days after she last did, before he decides that he truly does not give a shit.  
  
Anything to keep Modesty grinning and Credence from bending over with the weight of the world.  
  
The rest of the evening progresses with something dangerously like joy and after Modesty has fallen asleep, Graves decides to leave the files for tomorrow and spends a few hours on the sofa with Credence. They talk then, about the wizarding world and the no-maj one, about Christmas in Ilvermorny and Graves’ journey through MACUSA. Credence listens with rapt interest and Graves hopes, as he watches him, that one day he will be able to tell his own stories.  
  
That he will have experiences he can recount with a smile, with a light heart, the ghosts of his past long forgotten.  
  
Graves hopes that he’s helped to start those and tries not to think about the day that Credence and Modesty will leave, off to choose a path of their own.  
  
It’s not until nearly two in the morning, when Graves is woken by a soft knock on his bedroom door, that he remembers that it will be a while yet before that will happen. That the Barebones have only just started healing.  
  
It’s Credence, when he opens the door, fear and tears in his eyes, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.  
  
“Mister Graves,” Credence whispers. “Can wizards stop nightmares?”  
  
It breaks his heart, in so many different ways, because he knows the desire. The desire to drink a potion and have a dreamless sleep every night, so that you may not be woken by ghosts, inflicting their pain upon you again and again. He’d taken it himself, for a long while, before his life had taken a better turn, thanks to Seraphina. He had stopped taking it shortly after and some of the nightmares returned, but so did _dreams,_ wonderful dreams, and he remembered then, what it was like to dream and realized how much he missed it.  
  
“Yes,” is what he tells Credence. “There’s a potion made for dreamless and restful sleep.”  
  
“Do you have any?”  
  
Graves wants to reach for him then, but he doesn’t. “I don’t. It’s something that I can buy for you, if you’d like.”  
  
“Is it expensive?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Graves says slowly. Credence frowns as he wipes tears from his eyes and Graves sighs. “It’s tricky to make, which can make it a higher priced potion. But I don’t want you to worry about that while you’re here. If it will help, it’s worth it.”  
  
“You’re spending too much on us,” Credence says and it pains Graves to see a few more tears fall.  
  
He can’t resist reaching up to wipe them away and Credence turns into the touch, the way that he did in Graves’ office. “I spend little of what I make,” he says. “I’m not away from work often enough to. I also have a shockingly sizable inheritance that’s going to stretch into a few more lifetimes. If my family’s fortune can be spent on doing some good, let me spend it, Credence. It certainly won’t run out.”  
  
Credence sighs, but he nods his acceptance against Graves’ hand. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m sorry for waking you.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Graves says. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you any relief tonight. Is there anything else I can do?”  
  
Credence looks at him then, directly in the eye, and there’s something so intense about his gaze that it hits Graves squarely in the chest and for a moment he thinks he’s been stunned. It’s only many years of practiced breathing that he’s able to stop his from quickening, but his heart does dramatically pick up pace.  
  
There’s longing in Credence’s eyes, longing that Graves hasn’t seen from him yet, longing for something entirely different. It’s dangerous, he decides, pushing away the desire he has to probe at it, break it apart and see what it’s made of, the way he normally would, something that’s built into his nature.  
  
Credence is likely to cling to him, he thinks, being the person to take him out of his old life and give him his new one. He has rescued Credence, in more than one way, and it makes sense that he would turn to him, especially given what Graves knows is likely true about him.  
  
Graves won’t take advantage of that - he won’t damage Credence more than he’s already been damaged by life. One day Credence will realize it, realize he can look elsewhere, when he’s healed and ready for it. _Graves_ isn’t what Credence truly wants.  
  
So he pulls away and he pretends he doesn’t see the shutter of hurt fall over Credence’s eyes. “You know you’re welcome to anything in the kitchen, if you need a drink,” he says quietly. “Good night, Credence.”  
  
Credence’s shoulders are tight and his eyes are lowered. “Good night, Mister Graves,” he says hollowly and turns, walking across the apartment back toward his own bedroom.  
  
Graves closes the door and leans back against it, looking up at the dark ceiling and breathing out a heavy sigh. After scrubbing his hands across his face, he gets back into bed and tries not to think of Credence Barebone. He fails, fails the way he usually doesn’t, and doesn’t fall back asleep until just before dawn.  
  
——  
  
He spends most of the next morning in his office with the door closed. It’s not to get away from Credence, he tells himself, and half-believes it. Graves would normally tackle any conflict headon, no ounce of patience in his body for things left unsaid, but this is unfamiliar territory and he risks damaging his relationship with _both_ Barebones. So he ignores the way he can feel Credence looking at him through breakfast and locks himself in his office to sit with the files from Tina.  
  
Graves is too curious to let them sit any longer either way and he knows Credence must be as well. So he reads through what Tina has gathered about the Wright family, following their family tree throughout the last four hundred twenty-three years. It’s largely unremarkable, the Wright name having only lived on due to the pride of witches and wizards with a famous ancestor, which is nothing unusual. There are the occasional mentions of Wright family members in various newspapers over the last few centuries that Graves thinks Credence will at least enjoy reading.  
  
But when it comes to their own lifetime, Graves is disappointed (besides a vaguely startling realization for himself personally that he will have to tell Credence tonight) and a fair amount suspicious, when the trail runs cold. There are things that don’t make sense and he reads between the lines, trying to figure them out, and doesn’t get far.  
  
These are questions that can only be answered by someone from the Wright family and Graves peers down at a newspaper printed not so long ago and at a face that shares similarities to the man sitting in his living room. He taps the picture.  
  
“What secrets do you carry, Miss Wright?”  
  
Once he has gone through everything again, a proper picture of the Wright family in his mind, he emerges from his office with the newspaper in hand and steps into the living room.  
  
Modesty and Credence are sitting together on the sofa and he’s reading to her from his copy of _A History of Magic_. He looks up at Graves and swallows as he glances at the newspaper in his hand.  
  
“Modesty,” Credence says quietly. “Mister Graves and I need to speak alone for a while. Is that alright?”  
  
She frowns as she looks between them, before she seems to remember that her room is not so lifeless anymore, and nods. She pats Credence’s hand and smiles at Graves as she hops up from the sofa and disappears down the hall, into her room. Graves waits until he hears the door close before he sits on the sofa and looks at Credence.  
  
He’s more pale than usual, not an easy feat, and looks as if he’s prepared to hear the worst.  
  
“Your mother was born in Britain,” Graves says quietly. “She came to America when she was ten years old.”  
  
“She’s dead,” Credence says flatly, emotionless, expecting that particular blow.  
  
“I don’t know. But it’s likely,” Graves says honestly. “She finished her schooling at Ilvermorny a year and a half before you were born. There’s no trace of her after that. I’m sorry, Credence.”  
  
Credence’s breath is shaky when he sighs. “I didn’t expect anything else, Mister Graves,” he says quietly. “I just…” He shakes his head quickly. “I had hoped there might be someone left.”  
  
“There is someone left, Credence,” Graves says softly. Credence looks sharply at him, disbelieving. “As far as I can tell, there might be a few members of the Wright family alive and well. All of wizarding blood.”  
  
Credence stares at him for a long while, a multitude of emotions in his eyes. He’s hurt, yes, and angry too, and Graves doesn’t particularly blame him for that. He finally looks away, out of the windows and at the city below, blanketed with fresh snow.  
  
“No one came looking for me.”  
  
“There are many reasons that could have caused that. The most likely one is that they didn’t know you were alive,” Graves says. “We can’t know unless we dig a little further.”  
  
“Meeting them,” Credence says blandly. “If they’re wizards, how could they not know?”  
  
Graves frowns. “Your mother could have chosen for them to not know,” he says slowly. “But I’d rather not speculate.” He sighs. “Credence, your family is law-abiding. You come from a long line of normal witches and wizards. I have no reason to suspect anything foul was involved with your birth.”  
  
Credence rubs angrily at his cheeks as a few tears fall.  
  
Graves doesn’t reach for him.  
  
“Where are they?” Credence asks, his voice small.  
  
“In England,” Graves says. “Except for one.” He hands the newspaper to Credence and watches him take it with trembling hands.  
  
Credence stares down at the picture of a woman who shares his cheekbones and dark hair, a tight smile on her face. She stands next to a tall man whose smile is friendly, happier than hers, and they are dressed in wedding attire.  
  
It’s a small article, only making it into the paper because of her name, announcing that she has married.  
  
“Celeste Wright,” Credence says quietly. “She’s… she’s my aunt.”  
  
“She is,” Graves confirms.  
  
“Is she… is she here, in New York?”  
  
“No,” Graves says and smiles faintly as Credence’s shoulders droop. “She’s in Virginia. She’s close, Credence. A few seconds away, if you’d like.”  
  
Credence looks at him again, his eyes a bit wild, filled with bright tears. He’s looking for a lie still, perhaps hoping that he might find one this time, but Graves merely stares back and waits patiently for him to see the truth.  
  
“I need to think about it,” Credence says and looks at his lap. “I don’t… I don’t know what I want, Mister Graves. I don’t know what I could handle hearing, if, if it’s bad, if… if they don’t care about me, if they don’t want—”  
  
“Shh, shh,” Graves hushes and moves closer as Credence speaks more frantically, tears flowing freely now. “Credence, you have all the time in the world. You don’t have to decide today or tomorrow. You don’t have to decide until you’re ready.”  
  
Though Graves thinks not knowing may actually kill him personally, a mystery left unsolved, anger brewing in his heart for what Credence has gone through, he will learn to be patient. He can’t go breaking down doors for this one, as Seraphina might say.  
  
Credence leans closer and Graves is unfortunately helpless when it comes to him and lets him, moving an arm around his shoulders. Credence rests his head against Graves’ shoulder and he feels his warm tears and fights the desire to hunt down Mary Lou Barebone and erase every trace of her existence. He suspects what she has done, to ensure Credence never entered the wizarding world, but he doesn’t want to tell Credence until he knows it for a fact.  
  
He sees no point in hurting Credence more than he’s already been hurt.  
  
But there is one thing he needs to tell him, though he wishes he had more to offer.  
  
“Your mother,” he says, “was a year younger than me.”  
  
Credence is quiet for a while before he lets out a shaky breath. “You were at Ilvermorny together?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you—?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Credence. I paid very little attention to anyone outside of my small circle of friends and my studies and we were not in the same House.”  
  
Credence nods in acceptance and sniffles. “That’s alright, Mister Graves,” he says. “I can’t expect to find all the answers tonight.”  
  
Graves looks up at the ceiling. It hurts to hear the resignation in Credence’s voice, always expecting the worst news, so he might not be as hurt and let down by it.  
  
“What’s tomorrow going to look like?” Credence asks, so quietly, tears still thick in his voice.  
  
“Tomorrow,” Graves sighs, “is going to look boring for you.”  
  
Credence lets out a small, amused hum, and sniffles. “Why?”  
  
“You’ll be in my office all day, I’m afraid, you and your sister. I have to catch up on some things, including yelling at a lot of people, but I’ll be with you otherwise.”  
  
“Are we going to be in your office every day?”  
  
“No,” Graves sighs. “That’s something I wanted to speak with you about. We’re going to have to tell Modesty, sooner rather than later, so we can enroll her in the childcare offered at MACUSA. The children there are all of wizarding blood.”  
  
“I don’t know how she’ll take it.”  
  
Graves shrugs. “She’s taken everything well so far,” he says. “I think she might approve.”  
  
Credence nods against him. “I hope so,” he says quietly. “When will I start working in the Wand Permit Office?”  
  
“In two or three weeks. I’ve asked Queenie to show you around MACUSA, the different departments, so you might get an idea of what it’s like to live in our world. We’ll be studying in the evenings and I suspect in a few weeks you’ll know enough to be able to use your wand reasonably well. You’ll also have an idea what work you’ll be doing from Queenie. You can start there then.”  
  
“I think you’re overestimating me, Mister Graves,” Credence mutters. “I’m not a fast learner.”  
  
“In the no-maj world, maybe, and I don’t think you were given the opportunity to be one anyway,” Graves says darkly, glaring at the Christmas tree by the window, imagining it to be Mary Lou Barebone. “But you belong here. You’re powerful, Credence, and when wizards are powerful, they learn quickly.”  
  
Credence lifts his head and looks at Graves with a frown. “How can you tell?”  
  
Graves huffs a small laugh. “Your wand told me,” he says and smiles as Credence frowns further. “Don’t believe me? Wait until your first lesson.”  
  
“I’m going to destroy the apartment,” Credence groans, wiping the tear tracks off his cheeks.  
  
“Not if I can help it,” Graves says and looks around with a frown of his own. “Though it might be a good idea to take advantage of the training rooms at MACUSA.”  
  
 _“Training_ rooms?”  
  
“For Aurors,” Graves says with amusement. “A safe environment to practice dueling. Necessary for when I’m interviewing and training junior Aurors as well.”  
  
Credence looks a bit green again. “Dueling?”  
  
“Dark wizards don’t abandon their wands for Tommy guns when we close in on them, you know.”  
  
That earns him an eye roll and disapproving frown. “I know, I just… it’s hard to imagine wizards using wands to hurt each other. It’s such a gift, isn’t it? To be a wizard and have a wand.”  
  
Graves hums. “Not everyone views it that way,” he says quietly. “Wands can inflict damage to the body and mind in ways we don’t speak about, outside of the office.”  
  
Credence gazes at him. “Does it ever get easier to see?”  
  
Graves looks at Credence and thinks of what was done to him. What was done to Modesty. What was done to the countless witches and wizards he’s come across in his career, whether they were alive or dead. He thinks of the damage inflicted upon them and he thinks of what it feels like to be on the end of two Unforgivable Curses, in and out of a controlled environment.  
  
“It does,” he says, because in the end, he won’t ever lie to Credence. “It becomes just another day at the office.”  
  
Credence’s eyes dart away and he shakes his head. “I don’t think I could do what you do. I couldn’t be an Auror.”  
  
And Graves thinks _yes you could,_ with an aching heart, _because one day you’re going to get angry, an anger you can’t control, at everything that was done to you, at those who stole your happiness, and you’re going to want the evil in this world to burn, if it means saving another person, so like you, who is lost in the dark._ _  
_ _  
_ _And one day you’ll realize you can’t, you can’t save them all, Credence, and that it gets easier to see the evil instead, to live alongside it, and you’ll accept the anger on that day, accept that it’s a part of you, that it took the place of something you lost at the very beginning of it all._  
  
——  
  
The first three days back at the office go… well enough, Graves supposes. It takes a little getting used to, having Credence and Modesty with him, but he sets up a desk for Credence so he can read through his school books. Modesty often joins him, until she gets bored with it, and plays with some toys that neither Graves nor Credence thought to bring the first day.  
  
Graves gets caught up on the high priority cases that need his attention and has the occasional meeting outside his office with his Aurors so he can help formulate plans and countermeasures as necessary. He doesn’t yell as much as he thought he would, Fontaine having done a reasonably good job of keeping everyone busy, but he is immensely pissed off when he hears that the Ashe brothers have left New York and gone west, killing two no-majs along the way.  
  
They’re his highest priority case, the one he’s keeping an eye on, and the fact that they’ve slipped by his most talented and senior Aurors puts their case squarely in his lap. He tells Fontaine to have his team sniff out their trail and hopes that they’re brought into custody before he has to find them himself, for their own sakes.  
  
The fourth day, when Queenie comes to say hello and take Credence on his first tour of MACUSA, Graves realizes he has a problem.  
  
Modesty’s burning curiosity mingled with her intense boredom.  
  
He can understand it. She hasn’t been around other children in a week, her brother is learning magic as a wizard, and getting to see things she’s not, and her toys only take her so far, with her brother gone and Graves’ nose buried in reports. He wants to enlist Tina to help keep her occupied, but in the end, Modesty is now his responsibility and Tina is busy enough with her own cases.  
  
On the fifth day, after a tiring night of trying to get Credence to use his wand after an admittedly disastrous attempt to levitate a tea cup that resulted in a hole in the ceiling and china so finely destroyed it had taken Graves a little more concentration than normal to repair it, he decides he’s had enough.  
  
Graves can’t tell Modesty anything more about Patronus’ and Kneazles unless he begins to make things up and he fears he may start pulling his hair out sooner rather than later.  
  
When Queenie brings Credence back shortly after Graves has cast his Patronus in a desperate attempt to keep Modesty busy, he almost doesn’t notice anything different.  
  
“Anything interesting today?” he asks tiredly as he writes a few notes down on one of Tina’s reports.  
  
“Oh, lots, honey,” Queenie says. “We went through Magical Games and Sports today. Credence learned a lot about Quidditch, though Mister Ibex sure does love to make it sound as boring as possible. Did you know we have blown up copies of the original sketches Bowman Wright made of the Snitch? Well, Mister Ibex keeps those in his office, but I got him to let us take a peek.”  
  
“Mhmm,” Graves hums as he signs his name. He pauses, then looks up at them with a frown. “I don’t think I’ve ever been inside his office. Must’ve been interesting to…” he trails off when he looks at Credence.  
  
Queenie is bouncing on her heels next to him, grinning widely, and she giggles a little as he gapes.  
  
Credence has gotten a haircut. Gone is the unfortunate look his mother had given him and replaced with it is a shorter, neater look. It’s remarkable what it does for him. Graves normally thinks he looks younger than he is, but with a simple haircut and a couple days worth of stubble on his face, he looks _older_ than he is now.  
  
It’s that thought that shakes him out of his stupor and he clears his throat. Credence’s ears are red but he’s smiling as he looks down at the ground and Graves curses him a little, just for that.  
  
“I suppose I know where you went on your lunch break,” Graves says. “You, uh… hmm.”  
  
“I like it, Credence,” Modesty says politely, smiling in approval at her brother before turning back to the Patronus, which is licking her paw.  
  
“Thank you, Modesty,” Credence says sheepishly.  
  
“He looks sharp, don’t he, Mister Graves?” Queenie asks and raises her eyebrows at him expectantly.  
  
“Oh. Yes, of course, very sharp,” Graves says as he narrows his eyes at her. “Could cut a man with those cheekbones.”  
  
Credence goes scarlet and Queenie bursts into laughter and Graves notices that Credence is attempting to shush her, grabbing at her sleeve.  
  
It hadn’t gone particularly well, when Graves told Credence that Queenie could read his mind, feel what he was feeling, a fair warning the day before Queenie began to show him around. He worried he might horrify her, Credence had admitted to him, among other things, and Graves had merely attempted to assure him that Queenie had heard far more heinous things from the general public than she would ever hear from him.  
  
He hadn’t seemed convinced, but when she brought him back in the late afternoon, he had been smiling, as charmed and put at ease by her as everyone always is.  
  
Queenie gasps. “Oh, _honey,”_ she says to Credence, covering her mouth as she tries to hide her grin.  
  
Credence groans and turns on his heel, hurrying out of the office.  
  
Graves scowls as she looks at him, shrugging unrepentantly. “You’re supposed to give him privacy,” he says. “He’s easily spooked.”  
  
“I know _you_ think that, Mister Graves, but Credence is stronger than all that,” Queenie says and approaches his desk, peering at him. “You gettin’ enough sleep, honey?”  
  
“No,” Graves says bluntly. “I am not getting enough sleep. I don’t have enough hours in the day for that.”  
  
Queenie gestures at Modesty, who is staring lovingly at the lioness and oblivious to anything else around her.  
  
Graves nods, rubbing at his temples. “Today,” he mutters. “I can’t go on like this.”  
  
Queenie snorts inelegantly. “Hard bein’ a parent, isn’t it?”  
  
“I truly hope you can experience the joys of it one day, Miss Goldstein,” Graves says. “Get out of my office and tell Credence we’ll be going home early today.”  
  
She laughs and flutters her hand as she walks across the office. “Bye, you two.”  
  
“Bye!” Modesty says cheerfully. “Mister Graves, are we really going home early?”  
  
“We are,” he says as he swivels around in his chair to look at her. “Your brother and I need to talk to you about some things.”  
  
She goes quiet at that, frowning. “Am I in trouble?”  
  
“Of course not,” Graves says gently. “Never.”  
  
Modesty doesn’t look convinced, but she brightens when Credence shuffles sheepishly back into the room. He’s still faintly pink and avoids looking at Graves altogether as he joins his sister.  
  
“Mister Graves says we have some things to talk about,” Modesty says importantly. “So we’re going home early.”  
  
Credence does glance his way and when Graves gives him a helpless nod, he smiles a little. “We do,” he agrees. “Good news.”  
  
“You two go on ahead,” Graves says as he begins to clear off his desk, sending files back into reports and letting themselves tuck themselves away in their proper place. “I need to tell Fontaine I’m leaving and finish up a few things.”  
  
Credence nods and Graves watches him toss floo powder into the fire and take his sister’s hand. Once Graves is sure they’ve made it home safely with how clearly Credence speaks, he groans and scrubs his hands over his face.  
  
“I’m fucked,” he tells his Patronus when he looks at her, standing and pulling his long coat on.  
  
She merely yawns and follows at his side as he walks around his desk, until she disappears, her light steadily fading away.  
  
He ensures that Fontaine will wrap up the day for him and gets a briefing on a few updates to cases before he’s free. He locks his office up and leaves MACUSA and Apparates to one of his favorite fine dining restaurants. Once he has convinced them that he will not be dining in, to their apparent immense heartache and grief, due to his prolonged absence, he manages to order a few things and Disapparates back to the apartment building.  
  
Graves doesn’t often take the lift, which seems to be a point of distress for the lift operator, radiating in waves off of him whenever Graves stands quietly at his side. He never asks, saving Graves from having to intimidate him back into silence, and Graves merely murmurs a good night as he gets off on his floor.  
  
The Barebones seem surprised to see him come in through the front door and Modesty joins him in the kitchen.  
  
“Did you order food, Mister Graves?”  
  
“I might have.”  
  
“What kind?”  
  
“The kind people eat.”  
  
“Nooo, what _kind?”_  
  
“It’s a surprise,” he tells her and smiles as she huffs and walks back into the living room.  
  
After he’s put everything away for later, he joins them, sitting in the armchair near the sofa they’re on, watching Modesty join Credence under his blanket once again. Graves pointedly doesn’t stare, deciding he’ll think about what crimes he can charge Queenie with later, and sighs gently as he thinks about how they can go about this conversation.  
  
Modesty peers between them, gently picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “It’s not bad?” she asks quietly.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Credence says and smiles reassuringly. “I think you’ll be happy about it. I know I was.”  
  
She frowns, but she looks curious. “Okay…?”  
  
Credence looks at Graves, but he’s perfectly content to let Credence tell Modesty; he is her brother, after all, and someone she has known for most of her life.  
  
“Modesty,” Credence says, with some hesitancy, “do you like the wizarding world?”  
  
She nods as she chews her lip.  
  
“It feels like you belong here, doesn’t it?”  
  
Modesty is quiet for a moment, before she nods again, slowly. “I think so. I like it here. I want to stay with you, Credence, and Mister Graves.”  
  
Graves smiles as she looks at him.  
  
“You will,” Credence says. “You’ll always be with us, if you want to be, because you do belong here. You’re as much a part of this world as I am.” As Modesty stares at him, having gone very still, he smiles. “You’re a witch, Modesty.”  
  
Graves holds his breath as he watches her, prepared for just about anything these days.  
  
Though perhaps not for her to say nothing, but to throw the blanket off her lap and run out of the living room to her bedroom. Credence’s face falls and he looks at Graves, whose heart is thumping in an unpleasant way.  
  
“Fuck,” he says and begins to stand, before he hears her footsteps again. When she darts back into the living room, Graves and Credence hastily sit back down.  
  
Modesty is holding a toy wand, purchased in Dragon Street, which creates massive pink bubbles that, if poked, release hundreds of smaller rainbow-colored bubbles that can take hours to finally disperse.  
  
Graves despises it with his very being.  
  
“Does that mean this is my wand?!” Modesty asks excitedly, her cheeks red and her eyes bright, almost feverish.  
  
Credence and Graves gape at her for a moment, before they both slouch back, and sigh in relief. “No, no,” Graves says. “That’s just that… bubble wand. You’ll go into a wand shop like Credence did, when it’s time, and get a real wand made by a wandmaker.”  
  
Modesty looks mildly disappointed for a moment, but that doesn’t last long, and she begins to spout off questions at lightning speed. Graves and Credence both field them - mostly Graves, as Credence is only a week into all of it still - and simply try to keep up with her and her imagination, while attempting to get her to realize it will be a few years yet before she can use magic and attend Ilvermorny.  
  
Graves refreshes their dinner, a roast chicken with quite a lot of sides and freshly made sourdough bread, but it’s the worryingly large slices of cheesecake that he’d gone to the restaurant for.  
  
Even Credence’s eyes go round when he sees them and Graves watches with amusement as they both dig in, his heart warm, filled with a sort of fondness he doesn’t think he’s ever felt for anyone in his life.  
  
The fondness for Modesty is certainly new - he was a serious child, with few friends due to merely not liking other children, and he has avoided them for most of his life. She’s beginning to feel dangerously like _his_ and it’s only been a damn week. He can’t imagine what his life will look like in a month, a year, if they stay with him.  
  
And that want, the want for them to do just that, only grows stronger every day.  
  
The fondness he feels for Credence is a far different kind and he desperately tries to stop it in its tracks every day, but then Credence comes into his office looking like a proper young man, devastatingly beautiful, and ruins it for him. It’s quickly spiraling into something less innocent, which he’s familiar enough with, but there’s something added to it, something that isn’t familiar to him.  
  
Something _romantic._ Something that makes him want to see Credence smile every day, wants to be the one responsible for it, something that makes him want to hear him laugh and see him succeed, wants to watch him grow above his past and find happiness. Wants to be there with him through all of it.  
  
Graves doesn’t know which one is more dangerous. He only knows he means to stay away from both and to let it fizzle away naturally, like so many things of this nature do.  
  
Thankfully Credence seems unaware of the storm brewing inside of Graves, chatting more animatedly than he usually does with his sister, and Graves takes the time to clean up dinner and put leftovers away. He goes into his office after that and sits in his leather chair, putting his feet up on the desk.  
  
He stares at the copy of the map that’s back in the office of the Ashe brothers’ movements thus far and grimly wonders when they’ll leave behind their next victims. They prefer larger cities, so he suspects they’ll be in Texas or California soon enough, but he hopes they catch up to them first.  
  
“Mister Graves?” Credence asks from the doorway and Graves looks at him.  
  
“You can come in,” he says and gestures at the second chair in the corner of the room, which slides over until it stops in front of his desk.  
  
Credence sits down with a sigh and looks at the map. “She took it… really well, didn’t she?”  
  
“She did. Exceptionally,” Graves says with a smile as he follows Credence’s gaze. “I’m proud of both of you.”  
  
“Thank you,” mumbles Credence, always sheepish whenever Graves compliments him. “Who are they?”  
  
Graves looks at the two photos he’s tacked on to the board, one of Linden Ashe and the other of his younger brother, Giles Ashe. They’re handsome enough, the same strong jaws and noses and thick hair, worn carelessly, flashing smirks at Graves and Credence. It helps them in getting no-majs to trust and shelter them and when their welcome eventually runs out, it helps them to place them under the Imperius Curse. Graves thinks about the numerous memories they’ve had to alter over the last two months with a sigh.  
  
“The Ashe brothers,” he says. “Murderers and thieves and the reason my department is working overtime right now.”  
  
“They’ve left New York?”  
  
“To parts unknown,” Graves says with another hefty sigh. “Though I have ideas.”  
  
Credence frowns as he looks at Graves. “How do you find wizards on the run?”  
  
“By finding what they’ve left behind,” Graves says grimly and shrugs as Credence wrinkles his nose. “Patterns emerge and they become easier to predict.”  
  
“Will you be the one to catch them?”  
  
“I’d prefer to leave it to Fontaine,” Graves mutters. “But considering they’ve slipped past him, I might have to leave for a few nights.”  
  
Credence is quiet for a while. “What about Modesty and I?”  
  
“You’ll stay here, of course, I trust you won’t burn the place—”  
  
“No,” Credence interrupts, rather more firmly than usual. “What would we do if something happened to you?”  
  
Graves blinks and opens his mouth, then closes it.  
  
“Did you forget we exist?” Credence asks blandly.  
  
“You know I didn’t,” Graves shoots back, mildly offended. “I don’t expect anything to happen to me, Credence. I’m excellent at what I do.”  
  
“There’s always a chance,” Credence says. “Mistakes happen.”  
  
“They do,” Graves agrees. “But I don’t make them often. Nothing will happen to me.” As Credence only continues to frown, Graves attempts to smile reassuringly. “I know how to keep myself safe. I know how to keep the Aurors with me safe. But you’re right, mistakes happen, and a large part of our job is accepting we might not live as long as we would have otherwise. If something were to happen, you’d be taken care of.”  
  
“By who?” Credence asks and it unsettles Graves, the anger in it.  
  
“Credence—”  
  
“Where are Modesty and I expected to go if you— if something happens to you?”  
  
“Seraphina would ensure you had what you needed,” Graves says slowly, but this only seems to make Credence angrier. “Tina and Queenie would help. Anyone I call a friend would help.”  
  
“We can’t do this on our own,” Credence says and the anger is gone, replaced by fear, his voice cracking with it. _“I_ can’t do this on my own. We need you.”  
  
Graves’ heart is racing as he watches Credence.  
  
 _We need you_ has been said to him a few times over the course of his life. _We need you,_ when he had been close to getting himself killed in his early twenties, and Seraphina had been trying to make him see sense. _We need you,_ when he was promoted to Senior Auror. _We need you,_ Seraphina had said, grimly, when the last Director had been fired for gross incompetence.  
  
It’s never been said in this way to him. It has never carried so much weight, it has never been a responsibility that he’s held before, being _needed_ by family. Perhaps they aren’t his family, but he looks at Credence and thinks _I need you too. I need you and Modesty, here, with me._  
  
Graves stands and moves around the desk to Credence, kneeling at his side. Credence looks away, not meeting his eye, hunched over as if he’s expecting Graves to snarl _you don’t need me and I don’t need you._  
  
“Credence,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t apologize for my work, because I enjoy it and I plan on continuing to do my job until the day I retire. But I’m sorry I haven’t reassured you about the nature of it.” He takes up Credence’s hand and squeezes it, cold and trembling. “I can’t promise you nothing will happen to me but I can promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure nothing does.”  
  
“But you can’t know that it won’t,” Credence says and sniffs, his eyes bright in the way that breaks Graves’ heart.  
  
“You’re going to have to trust me,” Graves says. “I haven’t gotten this far because I’m mediocre at what I do. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”  
  
Credence lets out a sigh, but he nods nonetheless and looks at Graves. “I do trust you,” he mumbles. “I don’t trust anyone else.”  
  
“If there’s one thing that you can trust about the majority of criminals, Credence, it’s that they are stupid. Outstandingly stupid despite their cruelty,” Graves says and smiles as Credence huffs a laugh. “We’d never catch them if they weren’t.”  
  
Credence wipes his eyes and nods. “Alright. I’m sorry, I just…”  
  
“I know,” Graves says. “I’ve never had anyone to worry about me but my colleagues. I’m sorry I hadn’t realized it yet.”  
  
“I know one day you’ll want to be alone again, Mister Graves,” Credence says and reaches for Graves, touching his cheek and his jaw with his fingertips. “Have your life back the way it was. But I hope, before then, that you’ll realize a lot more.”  
  
Graves stares at Credence and thinks about crying or possibly laughing. He wants to tell Credence the truth, the way he really feels, but he remembers how little time has gone by and how far Credence has to go. The everlasting reminder of exactly how far _he_ can’t go.  
  
So he merely stands and takes Credence’s cheeks in his hands and kisses the top of his head. And he leaves, because nothing good will come out of staying in that room, and he pours himself a drink. He joins Modesty on the sofa and listens as she reads one of her children’s tales out loud, and pretends he doesn’t notice that Credence never joins them.  
  
——  
  
Graves gets remarkably more done over the course of the next week at work, once he’s gotten Modesty enrolled upstairs. She’s nervous at the beginning of her first day, but by that evening, she has talked so much about the friends she’s made and the activities they did that she exhausts herself and Graves has to carry her to bed.  
  
The Ashe brothers continue to elude them and Graves spends less time in his office and more time on the floor with his Aurors, putting their heads together in an attempt to catch them. They read no-maj newspapers but nothing stands out.  
  
Not until December 22nd.  
  
Credence is still learning at a quick pace, handling all of his schoolwork well, on top of everything he’s learning by tailing Queenie. He and Graves tend to dance around each other when they’re at home, but it’s not as torturous as it could be, as Graves’ nights are getting later and he isn’t able to spend as much time with Credence or Modesty.  
  
He can tell they suffer from it and he regrets it, but they will get used to his work one day. Modesty seems especially upset when he can’t promise he’ll be home on Christmas, but she accepts his promise to make it up to her with a grim nod.  
  
Graves still manages to teach Credence a new spell every night, but he learns them with such ease, for the most part, that they’re becoming more advanced already and he knows they’ll need to move Defense spellwork into the bowels of MACUSA soon.  
  
He’s thinking of that, as he sits at his desk on the night of the twenty-second, squinting down at a no-maj paper, his eyes tired and dry, when someone pounds on his office door.  
  
That would normally not end well for whoever is on the other side but he gestures with his hand and the door unlocks and Fontaine bursts in. “They’re in a no-maj safehouse in Dallas. Horn has been following the lead there, the no-maj death we suspected they might be responsible for, and he saw them himself.”  
  
Graves stands and grabs his coat, swinging it on. “Send a memo—”  
  
“They’re already on their way up, Percy.”  
  
Graves blinks at that but he nods his thanks and unlocks his desk drawers. It’s odd to him, he supposes, something he will have to get used to, that his Aurors know he has more responsibilities than just his job now. That they think of the Barebones before they even inform him of what has happened.  
  
He’s still rifling through his drawers when the door opens and Credence and Modesty walk in, followed by a visibly concerned Queenie.  
  
“Ah, Miss Goldstein,” Graves says. “Good.”  
  
“You’re leaving,” Credence says flatly when they walk up to his desk, his face impassive, but his eyes are filled with concern, with hurt.  
  
“I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” Graves says briskly, because if he stops to comfort them, he may never leave. “I’m hoping by Christmas morning.”  
  
“But Credence’s birthday is on Christmas Eve,” Modesty says quietly, her lower lip wobbling.  
  
Graves hasn’t forgotten, would never forget it, but he can see that Credence thinks he has. “I know,” he says gently. “We’ll celebrate his birthday and Christmas on Christmas day.”  
  
Modesty sniffs and nods and she hurries to him. He can do nothing more than sweep her off her feet, squeeze her tightly and kiss the side of her head. She doesn’t quite let go of his neck and Graves looks over her at Credence.  
  
“There’s plenty of food, but that’s for you,” he says as he gestures at the box on the table. “If I’m delayed and you need more. If you need to buy anything at all.”  
  
Credence nods, but he’s not looking at Graves.  
  
Graves sighs and gently sets Modesty down. “Give me a moment with Miss Goldstein and I’ll be out to say goodbye.”  
  
He watches Credence take Modesty’s hand and leave the office and rubs his hand over his eyes for a moment. He looks at Queenie, who is frowning after the Barebones.  
  
“They both think you’re gonna leave and never come back, that it was all too good to be true.”  
  
Graves thinks that is the last possible thing he needed to hear before leaving. “Well, they’ll be pleasantly surprised when I’m back in a few short days,” he says. “Go to the apartment once or twice, if you can. I know they’ll be fine and I trust them, but I’d like to know they aren’t completely alone.”  
  
Queenie sighs. “I will, honey. Me and Teenie,” she says. “We won’t let them spend Christmas Eve and Credence’s birthday alone. You bring yourself back in one piece, huh?”  
  
“Always do,” Graves says and smiles shortly as Queenie shakes her head.  
  
“I don’t think you know what you mean to them, honey.”  
  
Graves feels a muscle in his forehead twitch. “Miss Goldstein, I don’t think they know what they mean to me,” he says with heavy finality and is glad she says nothing more as he stalks out of his office.  
  
Tina is reassuring Credence and Modesty, but they look at him as he walks out. He gives them a cursory glance, then looks at his Aurors, who are dressed and prepared to leave. He nods and turns back to the Barebones and approaches them.  
  
“I’ll be home by Christmas,” he says. And, because he can’t stand the damn look in their eyes and he’s got a foolish heart, he says, “I promise.”  
  
Graves squeezes their shoulders as he looks between them and smiles. Modesty’s eyes are wet but she smiles in return. Credence looks as if he’s committing Graves’ face to memory and Graves puts his hand on his cheek.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
He turns away from them then and leads the charge, out of MACUSA and across state lines to Texas, to prepare for what he suspects will not be easy arrests, but a wand fight ending in spilled blood. Not his, if he can help it.  
  
He has made a promise.  
  
——  
  
It’s Credence’s birthday, Graves thinks wryly, as he stands over Giles Ashe’s body, and he’s wasting it away because two wizards decided they liked the taste of blood and weren’t going to be taken in alive.  
  
It’s Credence’s birthday, Graves thinks, as he hides behind a brick building and grins at Fontaine, who is bleeding heavily from a cut on his forehead.  
  
“I think he might be angry,” Graves says mildly.  
  
Fontaine snorts and wipes blood out of his eye. “Wait until he sees you angry,” he says and gestures at Graves’ coat.  
  
When he sees the hole burnt into it, a narrowly missed curse, his finest coat, he scowls and shakes his head. “Shit. I try not to wear this one while taking out the trash. Can’t imagine what Anita will say.”  
  
The building explodes then, brick and fire and blood, and Graves sees red.  
  
It’s dark in the creek, surrounded by low brush and tall Texas Ash when he stalks into it, not sure if Fontaine is alive, or any of his Aurors for that matter, but he’s got the scent of blood and stale sweat and whiskey to lead him on.  
  
He lazily flicks his wand when a curse is aimed at him and it rebounds off of his shield, hitting a tree nearby and splitting it in two.  
  
“You killed my brother!” Linden spits, his voice echoing off of the water, hard to pinpoint.  
  
“I’m afraid you did that, Mister Ashe,” Graves says and smiles grimly as he hears the outraged roar and sees the green jet of magic barreling toward him.  
  
It’s Credence’s birthday, Graves thinks, when he stands over Linden Ashe’s body, and he has killed two people who didn’t give him a choice.  
  
It’s Credence's birthday, but for the Ashe family it will be something else.  
  
For Graves it will be both.  
  
“Finished the bastard?” Fontaine’s voice asks as he lumbers down into the creek.  
  
“I couldn’t stand around waiting for you to come do the job,” Graves says as he appraises his Captain. “Your arm is broken.”  
  
“Not just my arm,” Fontaine says grimly. “Ribs and collarbone too.”  
  
Graves nods and sends his Patronus to deliver a few messages. It isn’t long before healers arrive and more Aurors and soon the scene is bustling with activity. Graves has a burn on his arm that smarts but he waits until he’s scrawled out a quick incident report before he lets a healer tend to him, smearing on a familiar orange concoction.  
  
Its smell is cloying and it would normally make him irrationally angry, the memories it brings forth, but he finds his mind is on other things.  
  
It’s Credence’s birthday still, in New York, and he looks up at the moon and wonders.  
  
“Are you still here?” Fontaine asks from the chair he’s been forced into so a healer can tend to him. “When you’ve got people to get back to now?”  
  
“I can’t stick around to make sure your face stays pretty?”  
  
“Go home, Percy,” Fontaine says. “Don’t be the last one here for once in your life. Go home, now that you’ve got family to go home to.”  
  
Graves looks around and sees that it’s been handled as much as it needs to be. Seraphina will have already been informed, he’s written his report and ensured his Aurors are alive and… and he made a promise, didn’t he?

He’s sure they won’t mind if he’s a few minutes early.  
  
It’s Credence’s birthday, he thinks, and he will get to spend the last few minutes of it with him, in a warm apartment in New York, the memories of this place left behind.  
  
——  
  
Graves takes off his coat as he takes the lift up to his apartment floor. It’s in worse shape than he realized and he doesn’t think it’s a particularly good idea to walk inside with it on, if Credence or Modesty still happen to be awake. His suit hasn’t fared much better, but at least it’s only mildly singed, beyond the sleeve.  
  
When he quietly steps into the apartment, he’s surprised to see Tina and Queenie Goldstein in his living room, sitting together on one of the sofas. They’re sharing a bottle of mulled wine and talking quietly, the only light in the room from the Christmas tree star and a small lamp on an end table.  
  
Credence and Modesty are curled up on the other sofa, asleep, and he smiles at the sight of them, putting his finger over his lips when the Goldsteins see him.  
  
Graves drops his coat off in his room before returning to the living room. “Thanks for staying,” he says quietly as Tina and Queenie meet him in the kitchen. “How were they?”  
  
“Good, honey, real good,” Queenie whispers. “Besides worrying to death about you, of course.”  
  
“How’d it go?” Tina asks as she looks him up and down. “You’re in one piece, at least.”  
  
“Always am,” Graves says. “They were neutralized, as they wished to be. No other casualties, unless you count my patience for the press meeting I’ll be holding some time tomorrow.”  
  
Tina scowls. “Why is there always one on Christmas?”  
  
“You’re beginning to understand my lack of excitement for the holidays, Goldstein,” Graves says with a flat smile. “A vital understanding in all junior Aurors.”  
  
Tina looks torn between annoyance and humor, but Queenie smiles and points at the sofa the Barebones are sleeping on. Graves looks and sees that Modesty is stirring, rubbing at her eyes and frowning at the empty sofa next to her, before she looks in the kitchen.  
  
She lights up and throws the blanket aside - into Credence’s face, Graves notices with some amusement - and runs toward him. “Percy!” she yells, rather startlingly loud in the quiet apartment.  
  
Graves laughs as he sweeps her off her feet and lets her cling to him. “Percy?” he asks as he kisses her temple.  
  
Modesty’s cheeks turn faintly pink. “Mister Graves,” she says politely with a furtive glance at the Goldsteins, who are likely responsible.  
  
“No, no,” Graves says. “I like it.” He sets her down because his back isn’t particularly used to holding up an eight year old, but she continues to cling to him. “Percy it is.”  
  
Modesty grins before she’s wrinkling her nose in distaste. “You smell like you were on fire.”  
  
“Modesty,” Credence’s voice groans as he pulls himself off of the sofa. He walks over, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes, but Graves doesn’t miss the relief on his face, in the line of his shoulders. The low lighting makes it hard to see, but there are tears in his eyes.  
  
It makes Graves ache the way it always does and he puts his hand on Credence’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Happy birthday,” he says quietly. “I hope it wasn’t a terrible one.”  
  
“Better now,” Credence says and frowns. “You do smell like you were on fire.”  
  
Queenie bursts into a fit of laughter while Tina sighs. “Well, it’s true, honey,” Queenie says as Graves shoots her a look. “Half your clothes are singed and don’t think I don’t smell that burn-paste.”  
  
“You _were_ on fire?” Credence asks weakly.  
  
“I can assure you I did not catch flame,” Graves says. “Just the end of an unfortunately placed Blasting Curse. I’m fine,” he adds hastily when Credence looks like he might burst into tears. “Minor burns that will be gone in an hour or two. And that will make it very late. I think it’s time for bed, young lady.”  
  
Modesty looks as if she might protest, but she shrugs and nods agreeably, and Graves thinks she must have remembered that tomorrow is Christmas. She says goodbye to the Goldstein sisters, as does Credence, with a sheepish but heartfelt thanks, before he takes his sister down to her room.  
  
“They’re good kids,” Tina says. “It’s remarkable how much happier they seem already, just a few weeks later.”  
  
“That’s Mister Graves’ doing,” Queenie says with a smile. “Credence can’t stop thinkin’ about _just_ how happy he is here with him.”  
  
The lewd wink she offers then, when Tina is not looking, is hardly necessary and he clears his throat, his cheeks warm.  
  
“Just doing my best. Now get out of my apartment,” he says and rolls his eyes as Queenie snickers. “Thank you again. Go get some sleep and celebrate Christmas tomorrow.”  
  
“We’re Jewish, sir.”  
  
“Right,” Graves says. “Sorry, happy belated Hanukkah.”  
  
Queenie and Tina share a laugh at his expense as he ushers them out of his apartment and locks the door behind them. He huffs a sigh and walks to Modesty’s room, glad to see that Credence has got her settled into bed.  
  
“Are you going to be here in the morning?” Modesty asks.  
  
“Of course I am,” Graves says as he leans against the door. “I promised, didn’t I?” He smiles as she nods. “Get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
Credence says good night and Graves casts the bubble charm, silver and gold, before they leave her room and close the door. Graves gestures for Credence to follow him and walks to his own bedroom across the apartment. He opens one of the drawers in his wardrobe and pulls out a small box.  
  
When he turns to hand it to Credence, he comes up short, because Credence is gazing at him so intently, almost as if he doesn’t believe Graves is there, that his heart skips a beat. Like he’s a phantom and the night went as badly as Credence expected it to and he expects to wake up on the sofa to bad news or perhaps he expects to wake up in his bedroom back in the church.  
  
“Credence,” Graves says quietly. “I’m here.”  
  
Credence sniffs and nods. “I know, Mister Graves,” he says weakly. “But you were injured.”  
  
“Barely,” Graves says with a smile and approaches Credence, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And there were no close calls. It went well. The way I expected it to.”  
  
“They’re dead?”  
  
“They are.”  
  
“Good,” Credence says and moves closer then, wrapping his arms around Graves and resting his head on his shoulder.  
  
Graves returns the hug, squeezing the back of Credence’s neck. “Were you able to enjoy yourself at all today?”  
  
“Not really,” Credence mumbles. “But Queenie and Tina made dinner for us. They gave me a handsome watch with my name engraved on it. Modesty gave me some things she’s made at MACUSA. She made the planets, she knows I’ve always liked learning about space, and they were charmed by her teacher to rotate around the sun at the same speed they actually do.”  
  
Graves smiles to himself. “You’ll have to show me that,” he says quietly. “I’ve got a gift for you.”  
  
Credence pulls back, his eyes lowered as he nods and that hurts a little, will always hurt, until Credence realizes his own worth and that people actually enjoy giving things to him.  
  
Graves hands him the small black box and Credence frowns at it for a moment before he opens it. The gift is covered in satin and he gently peels back the fabric and stares down at a bright and molten gold Snitch.  
  
“I’m sure you saw them in the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” Graves says. “But that one is special.”  
  
“They’re all special,” Credence whispers as he continues to look at the Snitch. “I only saw drawings of them, Mister Ibex didn’t want to get any out. Why is this one…?”  
  
“That one, Credence, came from England,” Graves says. “I was glad it got here on time, frankly. That one was made by Bowman Wright.”  
  
Credence’s mouth falls open with a sharp intake of breath and he looks at Graves with wide eyes. “But how did you—”  
  
“He made thousands of them before he died and those that haven’t been lost are in various museums and collections in Europe,” Graves says. “I know someone who owns a good handful of them. She was happy to part with it, when I told her about living with a descendant of the man himself.”  
  
Credence shakes his head. “But it’s too much, Mister Graves,” he says quietly. “This is… this is too rare.”  
  
“I think you might be the one person who is actually entitled to it,” Graves says and smiles as Credence frowns. “It’s a family heirloom, Credence. It belongs to you. They have flesh memories, you know.”  
  
Credence furrows his brow. “I think Queenie mentioned that.”  
  
“Miss Silverthorn assured me that it hasn’t been touched throughout the history they’ve been able to follow and considering Bowman Wright invented the flesh memory, I assume he wore gloves when creating them. It’s possible it hasn’t been touched by bare skin.”  
  
“Why do they… _have_ flesh memories?”  
  
“If there’s a disputed call of the game,” Graves says. “The Snitch will reveal who actually touched it first and the game will be called in their favor.”  
  
Credence nods, but he still looks overwhelmed. “What happens if I touch it and I’m the first one?”  
  
“Then you’re imprinted on it forever. I’ve heard they tend to enjoy the company of whoever imprints on them,” Graves says with some amusement. “Go on.”  
  
Credence tentatively reaches into the box and picks up the Snitch, his hand trembling. Its small silver wings open wide, flapping a few times and Credence gently lets it go. It begins to soar gently around the room, occasionally in small, quick bursts, that make Credence laugh.  
  
“I read that he copied the movements of the bird that was first used so players were still adept at catching it,” Credence says with awe and a wide smile. “It does fly like a bird.”  
  
Graves watches Credence, rather than the Snitch, his heart warm. “That’s right,” he says. “Try not to let it out of the apartment. I wouldn’t want you to lose it.”  
  
Credence looks at him, still smiling, and nods. “I won’t,” he says. “Thank you, Mister Graves. I’ve never… I’ve never been given something so special.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Graves says softly. “Happy birthday.”  
  
After Credence has gone back to watching the Snitch, Graves goes into his bathroom and removes his waistcoat and shirt to examine the long strip of orange paste, from his shoulder down to his wrist. He’d like to wash it off as quickly as possible, and go back to forgetting the smell, but he can see some of the larger blisters are still healing.  
  
“Is that the burn-paste?” Credence asks as he comes to lean in the doorway, the Snitch hovering by his ear.  
  
“Attractive, isn’t it?” Graves grumbles. “I could go the rest of my life without having to smell this again.”  
  
“Have you been burned that often as an Auror?”  
  
Graves stares at his arm in the mirror for a while. “No, not that often,” he says quietly. “It was in my childhood.”  
  
Credence lets out a wounded noise of understanding and steps closer to Graves, his eyes on his ribcage, where a burn that was never healed properly still rests on his skin, a few companions elsewhere. He reaches for it, but seems to talk himself out of it, and lets his hand fall to his side.  
  
“It’s a cigar burn,” he says tightly.  
  
“The old man did love his cigars,” Graves sighs and smiles a little as Credence looks at him, eyes pained. “My sister healed most of them. Time has healed the rest. Pissing on his grave when I was drunk and your age also helped tremendously.”  
  
Credence smiles faintly and shakes his head, but he still looks mildly unnerved. “I’m sorry you went through it. You didn’t deserve it.”  
  
“Neither did you,” Graves says. And when Credence’s eyes dart away, he repeats it more firmly, _“Neither did you.”_  
  
“She was right about me, Mister Graves,” Credence says. “I’ve committed sins.”  
  
“Just because she knew you were a wizard doesn’t make her right about anything. And thinking isn’t a sin, Credence.”  
  
“It wasn’t just thinking,” Credence says. “When I was… when I was fifteen, there was this boy.” He licks his lips nervously, avoiding Graves’ eye. “I liked him. We spent a lot of time together, when we weren’t close to the church. One day I… we…” He shakes his head. “Two other boys from church saw and when they called me a…” he trails off and looks paler. “She heard them.”  
  
Graves stares at Credence and wonders how often his heart can break for him.  
  
He’s aware of what no-majs have been starting to call men who prefer other men’s company, making it sound vile, and he wants to tell Credence it isn’t the same in the wizarding world. He has already, but he wants to say it over and over again until Credence believes it.  
  
“She had no difficulties believing them,” Credence says bitterly. “She bought tougher belts and if she saw me in the company of _anyone_ my age, I would be punished for it. She knew it was true because it is, Mister Graves.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean you committed any sins,” Graves says carefully. “In the Christian world, they choose to believe that because of what a book implies. In the wizarding world, it doesn’t matter who you love or sleep with. No one will punish you for it. If there’s a God, Credence, he punishes men like the Ashe brothers. Not a boy who kisses another boy.”  
  
“What about a man who shares the bed of another man?”  
  
“Murder can kill more than just the person who died, you know. It ruins people, Credence, it ruins families. If God is more concerned with who lies in your bed at night than he is murderers and their victims, I’m not sure that’s a god I would want to trust. But these words came out of the mouth of a woman who struck you for simply being alive. She was wrong about you, Credence, in every single way. Don’t convince yourself she was right about this.”  
  
Credence is breathing shallowly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and Graves thinks he might have been too harsh, with a pang of regret.  
  
“Credence…”  
  
“I know you see the way I look at you, Mister Graves.”  
  
And doesn’t that set his heart off onto a frantic pace. Graves opens his mouth before he purses his lips and sighs. “I wish you wouldn’t.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Credence, I’m old enough to be your father.”  
  
Credence frowns at that. “Women marry men old enough to be their fathers all the time,” he says. “I’m still trying to convince myself that someone like me could be accepted in your… our world.”  
  
“You will be,” Graves says and looks at his arm in the mirror again, anything to get away from Credence, from the look in his eyes. “And you’ll find the right person when it’s time.”  
  
“You think I’m only looking at you because you saved me,” Credence says angrily. “That I’ve formed an attachment to you because of it.”  
  
The words feel like a brand burned into his skin and Graves grits his teeth, not entirely sure how to answer that, because it’s true.  
  
“I didn’t know who you were when I met you. I didn’t know what was going to happen that night,” Credence says. “But I felt what I felt before you saved me. The same way I feel now.”  
  
“That’s semantics, Cred—”  
  
“Mister Graves?”  
  
“...yes?”  
  
“Please don’t patronize me.”  
  
Graves scoffs. “I’m not _patronizing_ you, Credence, but you’ve lived a sheltered life. You haven’t had the opportunity to live a normal one yet. To _understand_ what you’re feeling. Give it time, Credence, give yourself time.”  
  
Credence is quiet for a while. “Then why do you look at me the same way?”  
  
Graves closes his eyes briefly before he sighs and leans against the wall, letting his head thump back against it. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Credence.”  
  
“I’m not sorry,” Credence says. “I like when you look at me like that.”  
  
“It’s dangerous,” Graves mutters and scrubs his hands over his face. “I’m not going to hurt you like other people have.”  
  
“Do you really think that would be hurting me?”  
  
“I think you don’t realize how much it can.”  
  
Credence frowns. “And what if you’re wrong?”  
  
“If I’m wrong about that, Credence, I’m bound to be right about some of the other reasons it’s a _very_ bad idea,” Graves says, beginning to lose his patience, his nerves frayed from the last few hours. “You can have anyone you want. Don’t choose me.”  
  
“The thing is, Mister Graves, I already have,” Credence says softly. “Maybe that’s something else you’ll realize, in time. What that means to _me,_ to have chosen someone.” He turns away, the Snitch bobbing through the air after him. “Thank you for the birthday present. Good night, Mister Graves.”  
  
Graves watches him go, until his bedroom door is closed, then groans, pressing his palms against his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters and flicks his hand at the shower to turn it on.  
  
He stares at his reflection in the mirror as it begins to fog up and thinks that somehow, in some way, Credence Barebone is going to be the death of him.  
  
Because Graves is not practiced in denying himself what he wants, nor is he practiced in denying Credence anything so far, and he wonders when those two things will meet in a way he can’t avoid or talk his way out of. And he wonders, on that day, how much it might tear them both apart.  
  
——  
  
Christmas morning is spent watching Modesty open numerous presents that have appeared under the tree. She’s never looked so overwhelmed with joy and cries with each present she unwraps, even the handmade pink, fuzzy wool socks that Fontaine’s wife has sent.  
  
Graves had consulted with Tina at some point over the last week and she had given him a list of ideas for things to get Modesty and, in the end, he had been too flustered trying to pick out what to get, so he’d gotten the entire list. He wonders if it was perhaps too much, as he looks around the explosion of colorful wrapping paper over his living room, and the alarming amount of toys and clothes and various other things piling up. He’ll have to get her some shelving, he thinks, and ignores the way Credence is sending him the same _have you lost your mind_ look the shop owner had given him.  
  
But Modesty squeals with delight when she sees the ice skates and cries more and hugs Credence tightly, until he tells her he can’t breathe.  
  
Credence’s gifts aren’t as numerous, but he smiles at the scarves of varying colors made by Anita, and seems genuinely happy to receive a book on the origins of Quidditch and another on Bowman Wright. The Golden Snitch whizzes happily around the room, to Modesty’s delight. Fontaine’s wife has made him a sweater, a deep forest green, and Graves ignores what it does to him, when Credence pulls it on.  
  
Graves bakes apples stuffed with brown sugar, cinnamon, pecans and currants, something his nanny used to make on Christmas mornings. He hasn’t forgotten the smell, burned into the back of his mind, but it’s a comfort now, to have it in his own home. They’re easy enough to make, but it’s watching the Barebones’ genuine enjoyment of them, something they’ve never had, that makes it mean something.  
  
They don’t complain when he tells them he has to leave for an hour to hold a press meeting, and he dresses in his finest and goes to MACUSA. Seraphina has already sent word that the Ashe family has been informed. He tells the reporters what happened the night before in as much detail as he’s comfortable with and answers a few questions before he dismisses them.  
  
He visits the office only to give a cursory glance at the reports filed last night before he floos back to his apartment.  
  
Modesty and Credence have cleaned up the living room and when he suggests they make a visit to Central Park, Modesty beams and collects her skates and Graves grabs a few blankets.  
  
“I don’t know how to use them though,” she says as they leave the apartment.  
  
“They’re no-slip,” Credence says. “So you won’t hurt yourself while you’re learning.”  
  
“No bruised tailbones for you, Miss Barebone,” Graves says and smiles as she giggles.  
  
Graves walks alongside Credence as Modesty skips ahead of them, their shoulders brushing together. He is glad to do so, because it seems Credence is willing to forget their conversation happened altogether. He smiles at Graves like nothing is out of the ordinary, and Graves is immensely relieved, although somewhat suspicious.  
  
He’d be glad if the conversation was never brought up again, to save them both the torment of it, but he thinks he won’t be so lucky. Thinks his own heart won’t let it lie.  
  
They arrive at Central Park, which is fairly busy, couples walking hand in hand and families sledding or ice skating. There’s hot chocolate to be had and coffee, as well, and after Graves and Credence have gotten some, they walk to the frozen lake.  
  
Credence helps Modesty put on her skates and holds her hand until she’s steady on the ice. Her cheeks are flushed red with excitement and she grins, even when she’s pinwheeling her arms to not fall. But the skates are no-slip and when she comes to trust that, she tentatively begins to skate in front of them, not venturing farther out yet, and Graves watches her fondly.  
  
He lays out the blankets, having no desire to soak his trousers, and puts a charm on them to stay dry before he sits. Credence joins him, watching his sister with a smile.  
  
“You’re good with her,” he says softly. “I hoped you would be, but… thank you, for what you do for her. For both of us.”  
  
“It’s been my pleasure.”  
  
“Will you look into her family as well?”  
  
“I will,” Graves says. “I’ve asked Tina to go to the orphanage and see what she can find, but she hasn’t been able to yet. She should by the end of the week or the beginning of the next.”  
  
Credence nods. “If her family is found and they’re… alive and here, what will happen?”  
  
Graves looks at Credence and sees the worry in his eyes. “It depends,” he says carefully. “On who they are, if they want to be involved, what circumstances led to her being given to the orphanage. It’s likely she comes from no-maj parents.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“No, but that's far more unusual.”  
  
Credence smiles thinly, but he nods. “I just worry they might want her back.”  
  
“I don’t know the legalities of the no-maj system when it comes to parents’ rights after they’ve given their child to an orphanage or how it interferes with our own laws. Try not to worry about it, Credence. Not until we have more information.”  
  
“I’ll try not to,” Credence says and looks at his lap. “I think, when… when the holidays have passed and I start working at MACUSA… when I’ve learned to use my wand well enough... I think I’ll be ready.”  
  
Graves gazes at him and wonders why it hurts. “You only need to tell me when and I’ll take you.”  
  
“Will you stay with me?”  
  
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Graves says.  
  
He can’t fathom leaving Credence to meet his aunt on his own for a variety of reasons. His emotional state is the foremost one, but he doesn’t know who Celeste Wright is, he doesn’t know her husband, and he doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust what they might tell Credence if he’s not there.  
  
Doesn’t trust that they won’t offer to let him stay with them and doesn’t trust how he’d feel about it, learning it later on.  
  
“Thank you,” Credence says quietly. He looks out at Modesty again, who is steadily becoming more confident on her skates. “I like it at MACUSA. It’s interesting.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ve gotten a true inside look with Queenie showing you around,” Graves says dryly.  
  
Credence smiles. “She told me to go to her if I need to blackmail anyone.”  
  
“Good of her,” Graves says and shakes his head as Credence laughs. “She’s lucky I trust her.”  
  
“She told me you were the one who interviewed her, not Mister Abernathy,” Credence says. “That you had to, because of what she can do.”  
  
Graves nods. “That’s right,” he says. “Since her gift with Legilimency is natural, she can’t turn it off. People who learn Legilimency, like myself, typically require eye contact and concentration to read someone else’s thoughts. And, unless you’ve mastered it, people can feel when you’re looking through their mind. I needed to know how easily she could break in, as it were, to those minds who train in Occlumency.”  
  
“The defense against Legilimency,” Credence says slowly.  
  
“Right,” Graves confirms. “She’s not typically allowed in my department, beyond the obvious exceptions of these last weeks, because junior Aurors are still training in Occlumency. But I did her interview because I needed to know how powerful she was.”  
  
“She says she tried to read you a few times, at the beginning, and it was like running into a wall.”  
  
Graves smiles. “Can’t have anyone learning what I know about MACUSA.”  
  
“How hard is it to learn Legilimency and Occlumency?”  
  
“Tired of it?” Graves chuckles.  
  
Credence shrugs. “I haven’t frightened her with my thoughts. She’s made me feel more... accepted. Like I’m not so abnormal, maybe,” he says softly. “I only find it interesting.”  
  
Graves has a feeling he knows where Credence’s growing boldness is coming from and will worry about _that_ later on. “It takes years to learn one, let alone both. A decade, maybe more, to completely master them. Some wizards are powerful enough to break through even skilled Occlumens’ minds. You have to put forth deceptions and disguise them as the truth to fool a master Legilimens. It’s not magic that’s taught outside of MACUSA or in a dark wizarding circle because it’s not particularly needed and because it’s difficult.”  
  
“How do Aurors train for it?”  
  
“By becoming very comfortable with me and their peers seeing their darkest memories and hearing their darkest thoughts,” Graves says wryly. “I lose trainees often because they can’t handle the stress of it.”  
  
Credence shakes his head as he watches Graves. “There’s so much more to being a wizard and… and an Auror than I thought. I think… I will enjoy working in the Wand Permit Office.”  
  
Graves laughs. “I think I will too. Better than you entertaining the thought of becoming an Auror.”  
  
Credence wrinkles his nose, a gesture that’s becoming far too endearing for Graves’ heart to handle. “No, thank you, Mister Graves, I’m not interested.”  
  
“Good man.”  
  
“...what about a Quidditch player?”  
  
“I believe one of their requirements is that you know how to ride a broom.”  
  
“Queenie says you’re an excellent teacher.”  
  
Graves groans.  
  
——  
  
Things begin to slow down after that. New Years is busy, as it always is, but the following week the wizarding world relaxes and Graves is able to work through his backlog of reports to approve of and sign off on. There will always be dark wizards and witches that they must worry about, but the next operation that he’s part of is a slowly building case.  
  
He takes time to train Tina more throughout the day, and a few other junior Aurors, and has a few meetings with Seraphina to discuss work and to discuss the Barebones. He realizes halfway through catching her up on how everything has gone that he sounds less professional and more like a proud parent and scowls at her when she tells him _you can always adopt Modesty, you know._  
  
Thank Merlin she doesn’t suggest the same for Credence.  
  
Modesty is learning as much as Credence is about the wizarding world and has grown attached to a few of the children she spends her days with. Graves supposes he should have expected it, but when she asks to visit one of them at their home, he nearly has an aneurysm. Once he’s looked into the family and met the girl’s parents, he allows it, very grudgingly.  
  
When Modesty returns in the evening with genuine joy in her eyes, Graves accepts that this is part of raising a child, even if he doesn’t like letting her out of his sight for an entire day and night.  
  
Credence is easier, something that surprises him, but it seems that he took Graves’ words to heart about giving it time. He doesn’t push him into any more uncomfortable conversations, but he doesn’t stop looking at Graves either. He has the good sense to pretend he isn’t looking, most of the time, but it drives Graves a little mad anyway.  
  
He’s learning quickly, moving through his school books and practicing Charms and Transfiguration. He’s good with them both, now that he’s got a handle on how much energy he needs to put into spells, but they’re lagging behind on Defense, merely because Graves hasn’t taken him down to the training rooms yet. He means to, soon, when he can get over the fact that he’ll be asking Credence to try and curse him and trying to curse him in return. It normally isn’t a problem, but rather something he enjoys when training Aurors, but Credence is different.  
  
They mean more to each other. So he’ll just have to wait for the right moment.  
  
Credence is working in the Wand Permit Office by mid-January and Graves thinks he should be worried that he’s becoming thick as thieves with Queenie and by extension, Tina, but they’re doing wonders for his self-esteem. He is still wary around strangers and when he doesn’t take a potion to aid sleep, he has nightmares that make him look drawn and exhausted for a few days. Now and then he still bends his head with the weight of the world, expecting it to smother him, and Graves does what he can to aid him through it.  
  
After hemming and hawing about brewing potions, Graves decides it’s a necessary thing to actually learn if Credence wants to pass any exams, instead of just reading how to do it. He buys a sturdy Potions table and Credence seems happy to finally pull out his cauldron and ingredients. They start simple, with the Boil Cure and Poison Antidote potions, which Credence nearly perfects on the first try.  
  
Graves is surprised by it; with as powerful as his wand work is, he had expected the most skill to show in Defense, and perhaps it will, when they dig deeper into it, but Credence is a natural when it comes to potion making.  
  
For the most part anyway, when they try something more advanced.  
  
“It’s that one. No, the other one. The other one—”  
  
“They all look the same!”  
  
“No, they don’t. The first one has six legs on each side, the second one only has four. The third one, the one you need, has three antennae.”  
  
“How can they look so similar and cause such a drastically different outcome?”  
  
“That is the art of potion making, Credence, welcome to it. Grind it up.”  
  
“This is disgusting.”  
  
“...wait until you progress past beetles. Doxy eyes and armadillo bile and sloth brain are my favorites.”  
  
“Oh, God.”  
  
“We worship Merlin in this house, young man.”  
  
Credence giggles a little as he grinds the beetle into dust. “Stop distracting me,” he says as he glances at his Potions book. “How can the belladonna and rhodiola be used together like this?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“They’re contrary to each other.”  
  
“My God, you’re right,” Graves says mildly and gets an elbow to the ribs for his troubles. “It’s because rhodiola doesn’t just boost energy, it relaxes you too. And when you extract—”  
  
The front door bangs open and Modesty darts inside. “I’m home!” she yells as she runs past their table in the living room, a suspiciously large bulge in her zipped up coat, the top of which seems to be sporting a pair of two, long ears. “Bye!”  
  
Graves and Credence watch her go before they slowly glance at each other.  
  
“Were those ears?” Credence asks weakly.  
  
“Shit,” Graves says and they abandon the potion so they can run to Modesty’s room. She has closed and, when Graves tries to open it, locked the door. “Modesty.”  
  
There’s some shuffling going on in her room and she answers breathlessly, “What?”  
  
“Modesty…” Credence groans. “Open the door.”  
  
“I’ll be out for dinner soon!”  
  
“Modesty,” Graves says, more harsh than he usually is. “Open the door before I do.”  
  
There’s silence for a while before Modesty unlocks her door and opens it a little, looking anywhere but at Graves and Credence.  
  
“Modesty,” Graves says, more gently. “Did you bring a cat home?”  
  
She twists her lips and shakes her head, remaining silent.  
  
Credence sighs. “It could have a disease. Let Mister Graves look at it, at least, alright?”  
  
Modesty sniffles and looks shamefully at the floor before she nods. She opens her door wider and steps aside. Graves walks in and inhales sharply once he gets a look at the _cat_ she has brought home, shooting his arm out to block the door so Credence doesn’t come into the room either.  
  
“It’s a fucking _Kneazle!”_ he hisses and reaches for his pocket. The only thing that stops him from grabbing his wand is the Kneazle following his movements, sitting on the edge of Modesty’s bed, as if daring him to do it. “Modesty, get away from it.”  
  
“He’s a _good_ Kneazle!” Modesty wails as she begins to pet it, the Kneazle purring loudly and flicking its plumed tail.  
  
It’s quite large, definitely male, with a lion-like mane and a silver tabby coat, the black stripes wide and solid. His plumed tail is long but thick and his ears are double the size of a normal house cat, though one is half gone and gnarled looking, the other ending with long black hair on its tip. He has other scars as well, across his nose and legs, a true tomcat, and can’t be very young. He has striking golden eyes, cunning the way Kneazles are, and continues to stare at Graves.  
  
“Modesty,” Credence groans. “You remember what Mister Graves said, they’re dangerous. Get away before he hurts you!”  
  
“He’s not going to,” Graves says grimly and narrows his eyes as the Kneazle flicks his tail in agreement. “He’s chosen her.”  
  
“Chosen her?” Credence asks. “What does that mean?”  
  
Graves scowls at the beast. “It means Modesty has gained his trust. Once a witch or wizard gains the trust of a Kneazle, they don’t lose it. He’ll want to protect her.”  
  
The Kneazle lays down leisurely, as if impressed by this assessment.  
  
“Does that mean he can stay?” Modesty asks, her eyes wide and hopeful.  
  
Graves has already worked through the seven stages of grief and looks at Credence, who seems to be hovering around denial. “You can try to remove him, at your peril. He’ll only find a way back in.”  
  
“Can’t we use a spell or something?” Credence asks wearily. “He is just a cat, isn’t he?” He pauses as the Kneazle’s eyes settle on him. “Oh, he’s going to kill us in our sleep.”  
  
“Noo!” Modesty says. “He’s a good boy. I’ve named him Henry.”  
  
“Henry,” Graves says flatly and sighs as the Kneazle purrs his approval. “Modesty, look at me.” When she does, with wariness, he points at her. “You are responsible for him. You tell him what he can and cannot do in here, you buy his food, if he wants it, or you let him out to hunt when he needs to.”  
  
“She can _keep_ him?” Credence asks, a bit shrilly.  
  
Graves sighs. “Don’t make a lot of eye contact for a while. If anything, he’s another layer of protection to the apartment. To the building. And to your sister,” he says. As Credence gapes at him, Graves shrugs. “Better this than a Fwooper. Then we’d all lose our heads.”  
  
He gives one last look at the Kneazle, cleaning his paw smugly, and pats Credence’s shoulder. “The Potions lesson continues.”  
  
Credence joins him at the table and frowns down at the ingredients. “Are we really going to have a Kneazle here?”  
  
“I’m afraid so. It would be far too much trouble to remove him permanently,” Graves says. “I’ll just… need to register him, I suppose.” He scowls. “Seraphina won’t let me live it down.”  
  
“Are you sure you aren’t doing this just for Modesty?” Credence asks suspiciously.  
  
“Yes,” Graves says seriously. “When you’ve been attacked by a Kneazle, you’ll understand.”  
  
“What if _that one_ attacks me?”  
  
“No eye contact. Don’t insult your sister for a while.”  
  
“I never insult her!”  
  
“Then I’m sure Henry will approve of you before long.”  
  
Credence puts his hands over his face and shakes his head. Finally, he sighs and goes back to grinding the beetle. After he’s added the dust and removed a few petals from a belladonna flower, he adds those to the cauldron as well and begins to stir it.  
  
“Your family is growing,” Credence mumbles. “Soon you’ll need a bigger apartment.”  
  
Graves smiles wryly. “If it gets any bigger, I’ll buy a damn house.”  
  
——  
  
If Graves and Credence are rather jumpy for the next two weeks, it’s simply because they’ve run into Henry a few too many times, staring at them from a dark hallway, eyes wide and luminous, or taking a swipe at their heads from atop the refrigerator, or yowling a warning if they look at him wrong.  
  
Graves wakes up with Henry on his chest one morning, staring down at him, and he knows he locked his door, but that doesn’t seem to have mattered. When Henry deems him trustworthy for the day, Graves gets ready for work, feeds everyone and brings them to MACUSA.  
  
“Not today, Credence,” he says as Credence opens his mouth to tell Red which floor he needs, after they’ve dropped Modesty off. “You’re with me today.”  
  
“Shouldn’t I tell Mister Abernathy?” Credence asks as he follows Graves out of the lift.  
  
“I’ll send him a note,” Graves says as they walk into his department. His Aurors mutter various good mornings. “Fontaine, I’m going downstairs for a while. Make sure everyone stays busy.”  
  
Fontaine raises his eyebrows and smirks, offering a salute. “Will do.”  
  
“Downstairs?” Credence asks as they walk into Graves’ office. “Do you mean…?”  
  
“I don’t know about you, Credence, but that Kneazle is causing me to become restless. The perfect antidote to restlessness is movement. Lots of movement. Works the stress out.”  
  
Credence is smiling with some pain. “He was right outside of the shower staring at me when I opened it this morning, so I think I understand. Defense?”  
  
“Let’s see what you’re made of,” Graves says as he opens a drawer on the wall and pulls out a tote which clinks with vials. At Credence’s confusion, he shrugs. “Accidents happen. It’s good to be prepared for them.”  
  
Credence looks a little green at that, but he nods, and once Graves has sent a note to Abernathy, they are soon out of the department and taking the lift to one of the bottom floors, where Aurors train. The hallway they enter is short and bare and the door at the end of it isn’t impressive, if Credence’s frown means anything.  
  
Graves smiles as he approaches.  
  
“Your name and the reason for your visit,” a pleasant woman’s voice says from above. Credence flinches in surprise.  
  
“Percival Graves and Guest to use room… let’s go with Two for now.”  
  
“Welcome back, Director Graves. Welcome, Guest.”  
  
The door opens and they step inside and Credence gasps at his side.  
  
The room is more of a cavern, divided into four sections, large walls of glass in front of, between each, and at the back of them. The first room is fairly plain, made out of thick matting, and the one he or Fontaine uses to interview potential Aurors in. The second room has a variety of obstacles in it, but only at the beginner level, half walls and thick trees and other barriers to hide behind.  
  
“Beginner, intermediate, and expert,” Graves says as he points at the three rooms on the right. “If you can’t pass the expert training course, you can’t become an Auror.”  
  
The last room has broken down buildings and brick towers, rickety stairs that lead up to a dangerously unmaintained, zigzagging platform, and various other obstacles on the ground.  
  
Credence looks relieved they won’t be entering that one.  
  
“Half the time it’s on fire and pouring rain at the same time,” Graves says. “Very enjoyable.”  
  
They enter the second room and Graves leads Credence to an area without any obstacles. “You remember the basics?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Show me.”  
  
Credence frowns as he pulls out his wand and looks apprehensive. “Do you mean you want me to try and stun—”  
  
Credence leaps aside from Graves’ curse, narrowly dodging it, and gapes at him in shock.  
  
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Graves tsks. “That was a poor excuse for a Shield Charm.”  
  
“You said you’d say the spells out loud first!”  
  
“I did, in the apartment. Stun me.”  
  
Credence narrows his eyes and gets into the dueling stance that Graves taught him some weeks ago. _“Stupefy!”_  
  
It’s powerful, of course, but Graves flicks his wand and it bounces off his shield and hits the glass wall, which absorbs it. He smiles as Credence frowns at the wall.  
  
“They absorb spells so there’s no dangerous ricocheting,” he says. “Except in Four. Again!”  
  
It goes on like this for some time, Graves blocking or counteracting spells that Credence sends his way, before he casts some of his own and instructs Credence on how to better protect himself. His Shield Charm is nigh unbreakable, something that Graves is rather relieved by, but he doesn’t tell Credence that.  
  
After a while, when they’ve both removed their coats and rolled up their sleeves, Graves tells Credence to disarm him.  
  
“We haven’t done that one yet,” Credence groans. “It was too dangerous in the apartment.”  
  
“And not too dangerous here. It’s an important spell to learn and master. Disarm and Stun are what we typically go for as Aurors, if it’s safe enough to not use more lethal force. Give it a try. I’ll even let you do it.”  
  
Credence eyes him for a while before he sighs and points his wand at Graves. _“Expelliarmus!”_ _  
__  
_Graves doesn’t block the spell and with a jolt to his arm, his wand is knocked out of his hand and soars halfway between them, landing on the ground. “Good!” he says. “Depending on how close you are and how loyal the wand is, you can typically reach it before any enemy can recover it.”  
  
His fingers are nearly on his wand when he dives to the side to avoid the Stunner Credence throws at him. He leans against a tree and laughs. “Cheeky,” he says and holds out his hand until his wand shoots back into it. He steps back out and blocks another Stunner and counteracts it with a Trip Jinx, which has Credence falling on to his face. “Always, _always_ assume it’s a Shield Charm you’ll be using next after casting an offensive spell.”  
  
Credence rubs his nose as he stands back up and nods in understanding. “I’ll try to remember that.”  
  
“You _will_ remember that,” Graves says and flicks his wand at a tree. The branches break off and turn toward Credence before they rush forward, intent on doing harm.  
  
Credence looks like he’s been stunned for a short moment, but he raises his wand at the last second and shouts, _“Impedimenta!”_  
  
The branches freeze in midair as the turquoise light hits them, then fall to the ground and go still.  
  
Graves grins. “That’s more like it,” he says and raises an eyebrow as he points his wand. “Shall we continue?”  
  
They duel for a while, Graves getting a feel for the power in Credence, and power there is. He gets annoyed with Graves toying with him now and then and Graves has to put up a more powerful shield for the curses he aims his way. He gets sheepish after that, until Graves tells him that no dueling partner or dark wizard is ever going to be _shy_ after unleashing a powerful curse, and it seems to do the trick.  
  
Graves hits Credence with a few benign jinxes and tells him how to get himself out of them. The Sponge-Knee Curse he seems to take personally and lashes out with another Stunner and, to Graves’ great surprise, a follow up spell that he doesn’t make a peep for. Graves manages to get one leg out of the way but it smacks his other one and he topples onto the ground with a grunt.  
  
“Oh!” Credence gasps and hurries over. “I’m so sorry, Mister Graves, I didn’t think it would work.”  
  
“Did you just hit me with a Trip Jinx without an incantation?” Graves asks as he rolls onto his back and frowns to see Credence has abandoned his wand on the ground. “I could have come up and cursed you into oblivion, you know.”  
  
Credence sighs and sits next to him. “You wouldn’t have,” he says with a concerned grimace.  
  
“You didn’t just whisper it?”  
  
Credence shakes his head, his eyes darting away. “I just thought of the spell and it worked.”  
  
“Huh,” Graves says as he puts his hands behind his head and looks up at the ceiling high above. “That’s one to write home about.”  
  
“You said not using incantations was advanced magic,” Credence mutters. “This is my first lesson. It was probably a fluke.”  
  
“I can assure you doing incantationaless magic is not a fluke,” Graves says with amusement, smirking as Credence shoots him a wary glance. “It’s impressive, Credence. I told you, you’re powerful. We’re going to need to find you something you might enjoy for work that uses some of that power.”  
  
Credence sighs as he lounges out more, leaning against Graves’ ribs and resting his arm on his chest. He ignores Graves’ raised eyebrows. “I like the Wand Permit Office,” he says. “For now, I mean. I still have a lot left to learn.”  
  
“You do,” Graves agrees. “But it won’t take you seven years to learn it. You’ll know as much as any witch or wizard your age in less than two by my count. After that, you’ll want out of that office. Before it, even.”  
  
“I don’t know what I could do,” Credence says as he looks at Graves. “You’ve been saying Defense and Potions are what I’m excelling in lately.”  
  
“You could work at the apothecary in Dragon Street,” Graves says with a smile. “You could even see if Ilvermorny is hiring in the next few years and apply for Potions Master, if that’s something you’d like and you keep studying.”  
  
“Wouldn’t I have to live there for the school year?”  
  
“Typically, yes. If you were hired, you would be teaching your sister.”  
  
Credence frowns as he looks down at his fingers, which he’s drumming gently against Graves’ chest.  
  
“Credence,” Graves says quietly. When Credence looks at him, his cheeks faintly pink, Graves puts his hand on his cheek. “You’ve got to know by now I’m not trying to get rid of you. I want to see you succeed and enjoy life. You’d be a good professor.”  
  
Credence closes his eyes as he leans into Graves’ touch. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. _Our_ welcome,” he says. “But I don’t want to live anywhere else, Mister Graves.”  
  
Graves sighs as he runs his thumb along Credence’s cheek. “It goes against my better judgement to say this, but I would prefer if you lived with me until your sister finishes school or you decide you want to be elsewhere. You’re not going to overstay your welcome. Not with me.”  
  
“Thank you,” Credence says, meaningfully, a faint shine to his eyes. Still looking for and expecting that lie, Graves knows, and still not finding it. Credence moves his hand up and presses his fingertips to Graves’ cheek.  
  
His breath hitches a little and his mind is producing what sounds like MACUSA’s alarm bells, but he can’t take his eyes off of Credence. His fingertips trail over Graves’ jaw and back up to his forehead, and the corner of his eye. They eventually move into his hair, gentle, as Credence moves closer, coming into Graves’ space.  
  
Graves meets him halfway there, moving his own hand to the back of Credence’s neck, as he pushes up into the kiss.  
  
It’s tentative, a brush of their lips together, and the alarm bells ring louder, because Graves knows that Credence doesn’t have experience in this. One kiss when he was a teenager is hardly enough and it shows in the tremble of his lower lip, the hesitancy to be the one to lead.  
  
And Graves lets himself turn off the alarms and presses more firmly, kissing Credence until he’s melting against him, kissing him until he’s kissing back, moving fluidly between sweet and something more like heat. It’s when Credence moans that Graves pulls away from the kiss, breathing deeply, and looks at him.  
  
Credence’s eyes are wide, with surprise and something that looks like fear, his lips parted and rosy. Fear that Graves will put an end to it, the way that he should, fear that Graves will put distance between them, the way that he should. Fear that Graves will abandon him, the way he will never do so.  
  
“Fuck,” Graves mutters and sits up, pulling Credence up with him until he can put his hands on his cheeks and pull him in again.  
  
Credence comes willingly, one hand flying to grip Graves’ wrist, the other fisting at his waistcoat.  
  
It’s deeper, more frantic, but it’s good, so, so good, and Graves feels warm, his heart pounding with excitement and something else, something else he’s not sure he’s ever really felt before. It’s terrifying and _exhilarating_ and he should pull away.  
  
He should.  
  
He doesn’t.  
  
At least, not until he starts to think that clothes coming off sounds like a good idea.  
  
“Alright, alright,” Graves pants as he pulls away and looks up at the ceiling, looking for his sanity. “Enough for now.”  
  
“For now?” Credence asks and when Graves looks at him, he wants to cry.  
  
Credence looks thoroughly debauched and the only thing he’s done is kiss him. But his cheeks are pink and his lips are plump and full, his eyes glassy and his pupils wide. He’s a beautiful mess and Graves would kiss him again, if it wouldn’t doom them both to stupidity.  
  
“Yes, Merlin help me, for now,” Graves mutters as he straightens out Credence’s shirt and untucked tie. “We have to talk about this.”  
  
“Okay,” Credence nods and licks his lips. “Tonight?”  
  
“Maybe,” Graves says. “Give me some time to think. If… if this is what you want and we do this, Credence, we go at my pace.”  
  
Credence frowns and Graves fears he’s going to disagree, but he only says, “Of course, Mister Graves.”  
  
“Please… _please_ call me anything but that.”  
  
Credence’s lips twitch into a smile. “Percival,” he says quietly.  
  
 _“...fuck,”_ Graves hisses and stands up, holding his hands out to help Credence, who looks amused. “Go to work. I’ll see you this evening.”  
  
“Are you going to be alright?” Credence asks and the amusement is gone, replaced by fear once again.  
  
Fear that Graves will come to his senses, as he should, and tell him this can’t happen.  
  
“I’m going to be fine,” Graves says and sighs as Credence frowns. “We’ll be fine.” And to show Credence he means it, he kisses him again, chastely, his hand on Credence’s jaw. “Go to work. Tell Queenie it’s her life if she mentions this to her sister.”  
  
Credence finally smiles again, sweet and amused, and there’s happiness in his eyes. A happiness Graves hasn’t seen so far, a happiness only _this_ could bring about, and he grimly wonders how long he can keep it there. How long they might be able to keep it up, before it all falls apart, because it’s too soon, too soon.  
  
He would like to be wrong, but he so rarely is.  
  
He watches Credence leave the training room and go through the door to the lift before he straightens himself out, smoothing his hair back into place. “I’m fucked,” he announces to the room at large, his voice echoing across it. “Just in case anyone wants to know.”  
  
And he follows and goes to work himself, trying not to think about Credence Barebone, and utterly failing at it, the way he has for nearly two months.


	3. Chapter 3

Graves is not fine. He is anything but fine.  
  
But he ignores that as well as he always has and works diligently in and out of his office for the day.  
  
Tina comes to him in the later afternoon with news about Modesty’s parents. He isn’t particularly surprised when she says that they were no-majs, devastated by the war and devastated by the Spanish Flu, as so many were. Her father is dead and her mother is alive, in Queens, but Tina has said she isn’t in particularly good health, favoring illegally bought alcohol more than anything else.  
  
It’s too volatile of a situation and Modesty is too young to bring into it. Her mother put her in the orphanage for a reason - the same as Credence’s did - and Graves isn’t going to try and unite them. One day, when she is older, Credence can tell her when she inevitably asks. Graves thinks it’s not necessarily his place and yet the word _adoption_ floats around in his mind, planted there by Seraphina, and he wonders if someday it will be his place.  
  
He wants that, he’s not too scared to admit to himself, but he thinks it’s all likely to go tits up anyway, if he’s in a romantic relationship with her brother.  
  
Modesty has no other family beyond a few distant cousins and none of magical blood. It’s likely she was descended from a Squib, which will make tracking down her magical ancestry harder, with the surname Tina has found not being one of wizarding blood.  
  
He’s disappointed. He had known this was the likely scenario but Credence’s own parentage had been a surprise and he had hoped, foolishly, that Modesty might have the same answers in her own.  
  
And yet there’s something in his chest, like a great lumbering beast, that roars its displeasure at the idea of reuniting either of the Barebones with their family.  
  
Graves pushes that away. Credence is an adult, after all, and can do whatever he likes, and Modesty isn’t his child.  
  
 _Not yet,_ his mind whispers, and he kindly tells it to fuck off.  
  
Graves is not fine. He’s not fine when the day ends and he goes home with Credence and Modesty at his side. Modesty is talking at rapid speeds about what she did today and her plans for Ilvermorny, which seem to change drastically every single day, and Graves listens to her, letting her newfound zest for life be a balm for his conflicted heart.  
  
She is happy here, he knows, and one day she may decide to seek out her mother, but that won’t be for a while. He will continue to enjoy her happiness and watching her grow into a fine witch.  
  
“Fuck,” Graves curses as he dodges a swipe from Henry, who emerges from behind the sofa like a lion leaving his den.  
  
“Percy,” Modesty scolds.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Bastard.”  
  
“Nooo!” Modesty says as she squeals with laughter, patting Henry on the head as he rubs himself against her legs.  
  
Graves smiles as Modesty runs down to her room to do whatever it is that children do in their rooms, Henry trotting after her, but not before giving Graves an oddly approving stare. He shakes his head as he walks into the kitchen and waves his wand to start dinner.  
  
And if he pours himself a glass of Pure Malt Whiskey a little early, Credence only raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything.  
  
Credence sits at the breakfast bar with his chin in his hands and Graves makes sure not to look at him, lest he drag him across the counter and kiss him to death or something equally horrible, like straight to the altar.  
  
So he tells Credence what Tina has found about Modesty in a quiet voice. Credence listens without asking any questions and when Graves tells him his opinion - rather firmly - about not involving Modesty until she’s ready, he nods.  
  
“I agree,” he says softly. “I wish it had been something more for her. Maybe she’ll have an ancestor who did something they’re famous for too, to make up for it.”  
  
“If we can find them,” Graves says. “They could have lived in the Middle Ages, so it might take some time to track down her ancestry. Months, probably. If we can, there is likely to be something notable somewhere.”  
  
Credence nods. “It does seem unfair still.”  
  
“She’s your sister, you know. When you meet Auntie Celeste and if, _if_ she turns out to be someone you might want to continue to have a relationship with, she will accept Modesty as your sister.”  
  
Credence wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call her that,” he says but he’s smiling. “It would be strange. Having family to visit… having someone who knew my mother just a few seconds away. But she could hate me for all I know.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s going to be the case,” Graves mumbles as he inspects the sauce bubbling on the stove. “Do you have any idea when you might want to make a visit to Virginia?”  
  
There’s no immediate answer and Graves sips on his whiskey as he watches Credence stare down at his hands. But eventually Credence looks at him and nods, more firmly and confidently than Graves had been expecting. He supposes he should stop underestimating how well both Barebones are capable of handling things.  
  
“If you’re not busy, next weekend. I think that would be a good time to go.”  
  
“Why next weekend?”  
  
Credence’s cheeks are faintly pink. “It’s supposed to be sunny in Virginia that weekend.”  
  
Graves smiles a little at that. It betrays the eagerness Credence must be feeling, to go so far as to check the weather in Virginia and while it smarts just a tiny bit, he’s also happy for him.  
  
Merlin knows Credence deserves a member of his real family, to tell him the truth, to fill in the gaps, and hopefully be someone he can build a relationship with.  
  
“I’ll make sure I’m not busy,” he says. “We’ll see if Queenie can watch Modesty. Or maybe the Rosewoods,” he mutters and narrows his eyes at his glass.  
  
Credence laughs. “You still don’t trust them? They’re so nice to her.”  
  
Graves hums. “It’s Mister Rosewood I have my doubts about.”  
  
“He was a professor at Ilvermorny!”  
  
“He was the _Divination_ professor, Credence, and I don’t trust anyone who tries to predict the future with crystal balls.”  
  
“Queenie did say Arithmancy is more accurate.”  
  
 _“Divination,”_ Graves mutters darkly again. “We employ Arithmancers precisely because it _is_ more accurate and their expertise is sometimes required in my line of work.”  
  
“Mister Rosewood is kind enough, you know, and Modesty doesn’t ever talk about Divination so he’s not pushing it on her.”  
  
“He’d hear from me if he was,” Graves says and flicks his wand so the chicken breasts hop from the counter into a pan and begin sizzling. When he looks at Credence, he sees that he's smiling in amusement. “What?”  
  
Credence shrugs. “You really do love my sister. She’s never had anyone to be protective over her.”  
  
“She’s had you most of her life.”  
  
He won’t deny that he loves Modesty because it’s true and he certainly isn’t ashamed of it.  
  
“I couldn’t do much protecting until you took us out of the church,” Credence says quietly, eyes back on his hands. “I tried, but one day it wouldn’t have mattered.”  
  
Graves leans against the breakfast bar and lays his hand over Credence’s. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”  
  
“I know,” Credence says with a sigh as he turns his hand over and gently grasps Graves’. “It keeps me up at night, if I don’t take the potion, and sometimes it gets to me when I’m working. Queenie always gives me a chocolate croissant when that happens.”  
  
“Does she keep a basket of chocolate croissants at her desk for whenever her coworkers get maudlin?”  
  
Credence laughs and shoots Graves a look. “Just me, I think.”  
  
Graves smiles as he gazes at Credence. “It’ll get better, in time.”  
  
“I hope so,” Credence says. “I’m glad that I don’t have to be outside MACUSA very often. I’m afraid I’ll still see them, trying to hand out fliers. I know you had the church taken from her,” Credence says hastily when Graves opens his mouth. “But I can’t imagine she’ll give up.”  
  
“She’s still under observation for now,” Graves says. “We’ll make sure her reputation stays ruined.”  
  
Credence nods, pursing his lips. “It’s an awful thing,” he says quietly. “What hating something you don’t understand can do to you. To your soul.”  
  
“It is,” Graves agrees. “But then a soul like yours comes around and you remember there’s some good in this world. That light always keeps the dark at bay.”  
  
“Percival,” Credence mumbles, his cheeks red, a faint smile on his lips. “I still have trouble not thinking my soul is as stained black as hers.”  
  
“Well,” Graves sighs, “I suppose I’ll just have to keep telling you it isn’t until you believe me.”  
  
Credence looks at him, the fondness in his eyes stealing Graves’ breath away, and his smile grows, wider and achingly beautiful.  
  
Graves wants to tell him just how beautiful he is. But he’s afraid, afraid that it will seal his fate, and leave him no way to back away from this, if he needs to. He doesn’t want to, not ever, but unfortunately he runs on logic, low expectations and pessimism, and doesn’t trust that this, so new and fragile, can stand the test of time.  
  
But he leans closer anyway, against all of his better judgment, and Credence meets him there. It’s sweet and chaste, no time or privacy for more, thank Merlin, and Graves squeezes the back of Credence’s neck when he pulls away.  
  
“We’ll talk tomorrow evening. Give me the night to sleep on all of this,” Graves says. “Alright?”  
  
Credence nods. “Alright,” he says. And then, more cheekily, “Would you like company while you’re sleeping?”  
  
Graves merely shakes his finger at him in warning until Credence laughs and mumbles an apology. He helps Graves plate dinner after a while and they sit at the table, listening to Modesty talk about her day all over again. Credence catches them up on the exciting life of the Wand Permit Office and only stumbles over his words a little when Graves rests his hand on his knee under the table.  
  
Graves is going to have to accept being fine with not being fine.  
  
——  
  
There’s a knock on Graves’ office door the next morning and he waves his hand to allow them in, reading up on the newest flavor of the month of dark wizards.  
  
“Should I run up the papers now?”  
  
Graves pauses, his heart skipping a beat, and looks over the paper he’s holding at Seraphina, dressed as resplendently as ever.  
  
“Excuse me?” he asks, a bit hoarsely.  
  
“For Miss Barebone’s adoption,” Seraphina says with a smirk, her eyebrow finely arched. “A Kneazle, Percy?”  
  
Graves doesn’t sag in relief, but it’s a close thing. He suspects his heart won’t stop thundering for a while yet though. He merely shrugs nonchalantly.  
  
“Mister Dendron is a dirty gossip. I didn’t have a choice in the matter, you know,” Graves says. “She had been entertaining herself outside every evening for a few days. Neglected to mention she was wooing Henry.”  
  
Seraphina chuckles as she folds herself into the chair across from his. “It would have been hard to be rid of him then,” she agrees. “No requests from Mister Barebone yet?”  
  
Graves could cry. He would cry, if he wasn’t so skilled in keeping her out of his head.  
  
“Not yet,” he says. “Unless you count broom lessons.”  
  
“Every young wizard should own a broom,” Seraphina says. “Perhaps it’s time you bought him one.” She smiles as he narrows his eyes at her. “Has he decided what he wants to do in regards to his family?”  
  
“We’ll be meeting Celeste Wright next weekend. I am… greatly looking forward to hearing what secrets she has kept.”  
  
“It is very suspicious. Is he truly ready for it?”  
  
“You’d be surprised just how far along he’s come. Modesty too.”  
  
“I suspected Miss Barebone would bounce back, as children so often do. I worried for Mister Barebone, but I’ve been told he is a good employee and adept with his wand already.”  
  
Graves peers at her curiously. “How close of an eye are you keeping on Credence Barebone?”  
  
Seraphina sighs. “You wound me, Percy. You know I trust you,” she says. “Mister Abernathy is only convinced that I wish to know in detail how his department is functioning. In fact, I think someone may have instilled some fear in him.”  
  
“Haven’t a clue what you mean,” Graves says and smiles as she shakes her head. “What do you want?”  
  
“Perhaps, Percy, I wanted to see how you are doing. Your own life has changed drastically in the last two months.”  
  
Graves frowns, but he supposes it’s only a few days past being two months since he met the Barebones and he’s surprised by how quickly it’s gone by.  
  
How _smoothly_ it’s gone by.  
  
“I’m doing fine,” he says and smiles as she raises her eyebrows. “Really. You might even say they’ve been good for me.”  
  
“It wasn’t hard to see they would be the day you brought them into my office,” Seraphina says with some amusement. “When Mister Barebone is done with his studies, I assume you plan on letting him take his exams?”  
  
“Of course,” Graves says. “Why?”  
  
Seraphina smiles. “I only wonder what he will excel in. He won’t have any trouble finding a career, once they see he was taught by Percival Graves himself.”  
  
“He may come out of this with half an Auror’s certification complete,” Graves agrees grimly. “He’s strong, Sera. Gifted. It wouldn’t have mattered who taught him. He can do anything he wants.”  
  
“And yet I imagine he won’t be far from you, no matter what he chooses,” Seraphina says with a faint smile, before she rises from her chair. “Be sure to inform me of how it goes with his family. Percy.”  
  
“Sera,” he says and watches her leave his office, his heart still beating uncomfortably.  
  
It’s hard not to feel as if her words are ominous in nature, but he’s a fairly paranoid individual, and plans on keeping… whatever is going on with Credence very quiet. He’s made peace with Queenie knowing, as he knows she wouldn’t betray their trust, but he will be damned if he lets it go any further than that.  
  
Graves forces himself to ignore the mild unease Seraphina’s words have caused and gets through his day without any minor or major mishaps.  
  
He enjoys the routine of going home with Credence and Modesty, cooking dinner or ordering it in, hearing how their days went, and spending two or three hours helping Credence with his studies. Or having the occasional night off, sitting on the sofa and talking about a variety of things, mostly the wizarding world and all of its intricacies.  
  
It’s… pleasant, in a way he never thought it could be. He was an immensely private individual, he thinks wryly, before the Barebones came along. Convinced himself that he liked the privacy, liked having the spacious apartment to himself, liked not having anyone rely on him in his personal life.  
  
He thinks he would have lived his entire life that way had he not met them. Had Tina not asked him for a favor. He would have believed those things and perhaps even enjoyed his life, but he wouldn’t have known how much better it could have been, if he had people.  
  
Once Eliza had died, it was easy to not have people, beyond Seraphina, who was there before it happened. He knows he’s damaged too, but it’s damage he can hide easily, damage that doesn’t affect his life anymore.  
  
But it feels as if old wounds, which he long ago accepted as scars, still had some healing to do.  
  
Tonight’s lesson is supposed to be a practical Transfiguration one, a teapot into a tortoise, but Graves mentions Animagi and before he knows it, they’re lounging on the sofa and he’s giving a lecture.  
  
“Why doesn’t everyone do it?” Credence asks with awe. “Become an Animagus?”  
  
“Because it is an incredibly long and difficult process. If you go rushing it, it can lead to potentially permanent disaster,” Graves says. “It’s similar to Legilimency and Occlumency, in a way. It’s not taught at school, you pursue it yourself, though typically out of curiosity rather than practicality. It requires immense patience because of the specific parameters you have to follow for it to possibly work.”  
  
“What kind of parameters?”  
  
Graves sighs as he thinks about it. “Not only do you have to study Animagi and the process in detail before you can even attempt it yourself, which can take months or preferably years, but then you have to begin the… ritual if you will. A mandrake leaf kept in the mouth for one month - full moon to full moon - and carefully taken care of after that. You make the potion, which is another arduous task in itself, and wait for the day you can drink it. Which can only be done in a lightning storm, mind you.”  
  
Credence is gaping at him with wonder. “I would ask if you were making this up,” he says slowly, “but I’m half-convinced Henry is an Animagus.”  
  
“I would have sniffed him out already,” Graves says wryly. “He’s unfortunately only blessed with high intelligence.”  
  
Credence smiles and shakes his head as he moves closer, leaning against Graves’ side. “Why aren’t you one?”  
  
“An Animagus? Because there’s no need for it in my career. Human Transfiguration is suitable enough. And I was never interested, really, to begin with,” Graves says as he drapes an arm over Credence’s shoulders. “It’s rarer than you think.”  
  
“How many are there?”  
  
Graves squints as he thinks about it. “Twelve, I believe, in America.”  
  
“Twelve?!” Credence asks as he laughs. “Only twelve?”  
  
“Would you want to hold a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month?”  
  
“Well, no,” Credence says with a smile. “But I thought to some people that wouldn’t seem so bad.”  
  
“Much easier to learn Human Transfiguration,” Graves says as he smirks. “Which you will, at some point.”  
  
Credence smiles and rests his head on Graves’ shoulder, a truly novel and wondrous sort of thing. “You would have made a good professor.”  
  
Graves laughs. “If by good you mean terrible, yes,” he says. “I may enjoy Modesty’s presence, but she’s only one child. Add a few more and you might see me curse myself.”  
  
“You would have been a good one,” Credence repeats. “You’re too good with her not to be. But I think you might have been born ready to be an Auror anyway.”  
  
“Just about,” Graves says as he kisses the top of Credence’s head. “It’s in my blood. My ancestor, Gondulphus Graves, was one of the original twelve Aurors of MACUSA. First Director too.”  
  
“Really? How many other Aurors were in your family?”  
  
“A good amount. Most recently, my grandfather and his father before him.”  
  
“Why wasn’t your father one?”  
  
Graves smiles wryly. “He was too busy owning and running half of the east coast,” he says. “I shudder at the idea of that man in any type of law enforcement. He would have made the department a dictatorship.”  
  
Credence shakes his head and reaches up to squeeze Graves’ hand on his shoulder for a while. They slip into silence, looking out of the window and at the city laid out before them, the stars twinkling above, a rare clear night.  
  
“You said we’d talk tonight,” Credence says, after some time, a hint of apprehension in his voice.  
  
“I did,” Graves agrees.  
  
Credence sits up, giving them both space, and Graves looks at him, eyes downcast, nervously picking at the threads of the blanket covering their laps.  
  
“Credence,” Graves says and waits until Credence meets his eye. “I’m still wary of this. No, look at me. I’m wary for all the reasons I was wary of it to begin with. I’ve got double the life experience you have and I worry that you don’t realize that.”  
  
“I do,” Credence sighs. “I’m just not worried about it like you are. And don’t say it’s because of my age. I feel safer with you, knowing you have the experience I don’t, because I know you won’t use it against me. You use your experience to help me, to teach me, you have since the night you met me. It’s never going to do me any harm.”  
  
Graves watches him for a while and wants to believe it. “I’m going to do us both the favor of not treating you like a child,” he says and smiles as Credence shoots him a flat look. “But you have to do me the favor of _trusting_ in my experience, not just taking advantage of it.”  
  
“I’m not taking adv—”  
  
“A lot of people would think I’m taking advantage of _you.”_  
  
“Because they don’t know either of us.”  
  
“I agree,” Graves says. “But that doesn’t stop people from thinking what they will.”  
  
“You care about what other people think?”  
  
“About me? No. No, I do not. About _you?_ Yes, absolutely.”  
  
Credence frowns. “You’re worried how it’ll affect my… future.”  
  
“Yes,” Graves says, with some relief. “Which is why I’m proposing that we don’t go shouting about it for a while. Don’t look at me like that yet,” he warns, when Credence’s eyes light up. “I want to take this slow. Very, very slow. Slower than you’ll like. I want you to be established in this world before anyone knows. I realize this sounds like I’m asham—”  
  
“No, no,” Credence says hurriedly. “I know you’re not. I know you well enough to know if we met under normal circumstances that this isn’t how it would go. If you want to keep it quiet, Percival, I’m alright with it.” He smiles as Graves squints at him. “I am. Some days I might not be, but I’ll remember why it’s a good idea with your help, I’m sure.”  
  
Graves chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not going to lecture you about this. I’m only going to ask that you trust me and continue to give me good reason to trust you.”  
  
“I think I can manage that, Mister Graves,” Credence says, rather tartly. “I do trust you.” He hums. “What about my sister?”  
  
“I don’t particularly trust an eight year old’s ability to keep quiet.”  
  
Credence smiles thinly, shrugging a shoulder in vague agreement. “So behind closed doors.”  
  
“Not forever,” Graves says. “You might be surprised how quickly it will go by.”  
  
Credence nods, looking unsure. “If anyone were to find out,” he says slowly, “would it affect your job?”  
  
“No,” Graves says. When Credence frowns, Graves shrugs. “I’m the best at what I do and Seraphina won’t let me go because I’m in a relationship with a fellow wizard. She might throw me around her office, but I’ve survived every dressing down so far.”  
  
“You two are close,” Credence says with amusement. “You’ve never…?”  
  
Graves shudders. “Merlin no,” he says. “We are the exact opposite of each other’s type. We grew up together. Same year and House in Ilvermorny.”  
  
“Oh,” Credence says and Graves doesn’t miss the relief there, but it only makes him want to laugh. “Is she less terrifying outside of MACUSA?”  
  
“She is, until you have to Tango with her at a ball.”  
  
Credence laughs. “Do you really go to balls?”  
  
“More than I would like,” Graves says grimly. “But they’re necessary for a variety of political and social reasons.”  
  
“I don’t think I would enjoy one. Even a wizarding ball.”  
  
“Don’t be so sure,” Graves says. “You’ve never gone to one with me before.”  
  
Credence smiles, carefree and joyful. “But I will one day,” he says, half a question.  
  
“You will,” Graves says. “I’d much rather Tango with you than Seraphina.”  
  
There’s laughter after that, and quite a lot of kissing, and Graves thinks _I’m done for._ _  
_ _  
_ _Done for, fate sealed, caution thrown to the wind._  
  
Whether he will drown in this, or learn how to navigate the waters, will be something he will find out in time.  
  
——  
  
The days go by well enough. Graves feels as if he’s looking over his shoulder through most of them, even when he’s at home, but he suspects that has to do with the desperate hope that Modesty never walks in on them when their hands and mouths are in questionable places.  
  
It’s not often, though, as Credence does respect his wish to move slowly, in the bounds of their relationship and outside of it. So while they have a good snog every night before bed, they sleep in their respective bedrooms and don’t take it to work.  
  
It’s so fragile, Graves thinks, as he watches Credence read to his sister on the sofa, this thing between them. _Life_ is so fragile, he knows, and tries to convince himself that doing what makes you happy is actually worth a damn.  
  
Even if it means he has to endure Queenie’s knowing smiles and friendly winks.  
  
It could be far worse.  
  
Graves also has reason to not push things too quickly yet and one of them is named Celeste Wright.  
  
They’re going to be meeting her soon and he doesn’t know what it will do to Credence. Doesn’t know what to expect. He himself feels like he knows the woman already, he has so extensively looked into her and her background. He has a few ideas of what has happened in her and Cassandra’s life but it’s a puzzle with too many missing pieces.  
  
Celeste is forty-five years old, working as a seamstress in one of Virginia’s wizarding corners. It’s not a shop like Madam Anita’s, but more for the everyday working class witch or wizard, and she makes a modest living. She lives in a small home with her husband and has two children. One is a man, just a year younger than Credence, out of the home, and the other, a seventeen year old girl, finishing her last year at Ilvermorny.  
  
Credence’s cousins and he debates telling Credence he knows this, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm him or possibly anger him, for digging deeper without any permission to actually do so.  
  
But digging is what he does, what prepares him for the moment he steps out of his office and into the same space of those he looks into.  
  
Celeste’s husband, Jet Prott, is the editor of the local Virginian wizarding newspaper, _Virginia Voice,_ and seems to be altogether unremarkable. He comes from a stable background, his family half-bloods, and the only crime Graves can find committed by any of them is that his grandfather once magnified his voice with his wand in the middle of a small no-maj crowd while drunk. It was to apparently demand they leave his property when, in fact, he was on theirs.  
  
Nothing particularly heinous.  
  
Credence chooses Saturday afternoon and Graves isn’t entirely surprised when he doesn’t eat any of his breakfast. They take Modesty to the Rosewoods, where she will stay until some time tomorrow, and it is in the alleyway next to their apartment building that Graves plans to Disapparate out of.  
  
“We probably should have practiced a longer distance before this,” he says grimly as he eyes Credence.  
  
Credence is dressed finely, the long coat and scarf of Anita’s, green and black and grey, complimenting his pale skin. He looks… professional, fashionable, but so wildly uncomfortable that Graves is prepared to call the day off and promise to try again next week.  
  
He’s a little green and his head is bent in the way that makes Graves want to rip apart any and all who tried to take away the steel, the steel he knows Credence has, has experienced, make them pay for it in the dearest of ways.  
  
“I’ll be alright,” Credence mumbles. “I only got sick the first time we Apparated anywhere.”  
  
“Apparating a few miles is nothing like Apparating a few hundred.”  
  
Credence glances up at him. “Is it dangerous?”  
  
“Dangerous? No. Not when I’m doing it anyway, but I don’t want you to lose… well, you refused to eat my pancakes - feelings still hurt - but I don’t want you to vomit either way.”  
  
Credence smiles and shakes his head. “I didn’t eat them because I knew I might.”  
  
“I’ll pretend you aren’t lying,” Graves says and holds out his arm. “Are you ready?”  
  
Credence takes in a deep, fortifying breath, and lets it out with a heavy sigh. He nods and takes Graves’ arm, tightly, and Graves tucks it against his side, for practicality and for comfort.  
  
Graves has familiarized himself with the neighborhood and the home that the Protts live in. He Disapparates from the alley, holding Credence tightly as they spin and the world tightens, this time a good handful of seconds longer than usual, which he imagines might feel like an age to Credence.  
  
They appear with a _crack_ and Credence lurches against him. Graves keeps a tight hold on him and pats his back as he heaves for a while, but nothing of any note leaves his stomach.  
  
Once he’s wiped his mouth off, he groans and stands straight. “You’re right, we should have practiced,” he mutters and looks around. “Where are we?”  
  
“Wooded area next to the neighborhood,” Graves says as he looks around the dense trees and points at the street that is visible just beyond them. “Alright?”  
  
“I think so,” Credence says. “Do I look alright?”  
  
“Perfectly alright,” Graves says and smiles as Credence wrinkles his nose. “Perfect.”  
  
That brings that fetching pink tinge to his cheeks and with a satisfactory nod, Graves leads Credence out of the trees and on to a sidewalk in a decidedly quaint little neighborhood. Suburbs aren’t altogether familiar to either of them, but they’re booming in popularity, even among some wizarding families. Though, Graves thinks dryly, wizards haven’t quite got the hang of making their idea of suburban neighborhoods look like anything but a mishmash of wildly varying wizarding homes.  
  
They walk leisurely down the sidewalk, mounds of soft snow pushed into yards, the day cold but the sun bright, brighter than they normally get in New York this time of the year.  
  
There are few people out, but those that are peer at Graves and Credence suspiciously from over their hedges. He even sees some lacey curtains moving, faces staring out from behind them, and huffs a little laugh.  
  
“You’d think we were vampires.”  
  
“Or trying to sell them something,” Graves says with a wry smile. “The Word of Merlin might get them talking.”  
  
Credence smiles and Graves is relieved to see he’s holding his head straighter, looking around with interest, not fear.  
  
After they’ve turned down another street, Graves stops in front of a modest home. There are stone steps leading up to a few stairs, opening to a wide porch, with a small, white railing wrapping around it. The house is painted a crisp white with dark trim and there are numerous rose bushes lining it, bright with red and pink flowers.  
  
“A little early for roses,” Graves says dryly.  
  
“Do you issue fines for that sort of thing?”  
  
“Too much of a grey area,” Graves says and smiles as Credence does. “I’ll only fine and arrest them if you ask me to.”  
  
Credence nods. “I like that arrangement. Does it extend to everyone?”  
  
“For you, Credence Barebone, I’ll lock Seraphina Picquery in the deepest, darkest dungeon we have.”  
  
“How deep and dark is that?”  
  
“You really don’t want to know,” Graves says mildly and straightens Credence’s scarf. “Ready?”  
  
Credence nods and they walk along the stone path and up the stairs to the front door. It takes a moment for Credence to gather up the courage, but he knocks on the door and Graves notes with a pang that he’s trembling.  
  
It’s not surprising, but he can’t comfort him the way he would at home.  
  
The door is answered relatively quickly and Graves gets his first look at Celeste Prott, née Wright.  
  
Pale skin, dark hair tightly curled, with the same sort of shine that Credence’s own has. Her eyes are blue, unlike his, but her cheekbones are just as sharp as Credence’s. They make her look more severe, or perhaps it’s the way she carries herself, back straight and poised, but there’s something elegant about her. There are wrinkles by her eyes now, but she looks much the same as she did on the day of her wedding.  
  
She looks at Graves and he sees the familiar recognition there, the spark of apprehension his presence always causes, until she looks at Credence. She goes still then, her eyes widening for the briefest of moments, before she lets out a soft breath.  
  
“I hoped...” she says, her English accent soft and melodical. “I did hope that one day you might come.”  
  
Credence is staring at her, his lips gently parted. “You know who I am?”  
  
“Oh, love,” she says sympathetically. “You do look just like her.” When Credence doesn’t seem to have a response to this, she looks between them, then steps back and gestures them inside. “Come out of the cold and I’ll make a pot of tea. I imagine we have much to discuss.”  
  
Graves follows Credence in and glances around the home, which opens to a spacious living room. It’s clean and tidy, decorated invitingly, but not as uniquely as typical wizarding homes that Graves has seen. He has the feeling that Miss Wright is used to not wanting to draw attention to herself, to blending in, and he watches her with interest.  
  
“Please, sit,” she says, gesturing at the sofa. She disappears into the kitchen.  
  
Credence does, uncomfortably so, and Graves sits next to him. There are family pictures on the wall, some waving hello, others laughing, and Graves sees Credence watching them.  
  
“I have cousins,” he mumbles. He doesn’t sound surprised, only resigned. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”  
  
“I imagine it is.”  
  
“You knew?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
Credence huffs a small laugh and only gives Graces a mildly exasperated look, before Celeste returns from the kitchen, holding a silver tray. She sets it on the coffee table and the teapot pours freshly brewed tea into three cups itself, before they hover gently through the air until Graves and Credence take them with murmured thanks.  
  
Celeste sits across from them, in an armchair, and does not relax into it, her hands tightly clasped together over her knee.  
  
“My name is Credence Barebone,” Credence says. “Mister Graves helped me find you. I hope it’s alright…”  
  
“It is,” Celeste says, with a somewhat wary glance at Graves. She softens as she looks at Credence. “Credence…” she trails off with a shaky breath. “Forgive me, but I had accepted you as dead a very long time ago.”  
  
Credence looks down at his hands. “Mister Graves thought that would be the case.”  
  
There’s a long, stilted silence after this. Graves wants to ask questions, but it’s not his place, and he waits patiently.  
  
“My mother?” Credence asks quietly, still not looking up.  
  
Graves watches as Celeste’s composure slips again, the reality of what Credence does not know about his family settling in, the realization that she will have to tell him things that will not be pleasant for either of them.  
  
“Your mother,” she says softly, “was pregnant the last time I spoke with her. The last time I saw her.” She blinks her eyes quickly. “She died not long after you were born.”  
  
“How?” Credence asks, his voice cracking.  
  
Celeste looks at her own hands. “Your mother was sickly, you see. From the moment she was born, too early… so small, I remember. For the first five years of her life, we were not sure if she would live beyond that. She did, but she was always frail. But she was a witch too and she survived and went to Ilvermorny. In the months after she left school, I hardly saw her. But when she came to me and told me she was pregnant… she was thinner and more frail than I had ever seen her. It was… it was months after you were born that I received word she had died in a Muggle hospital. She had been too weak to go on.”  
  
Credence has watched Celeste as she speaks, paler than usual, a shine to his eyes. “You fought,” he says quietly, always so perceptive.  
  
“It’s not something I take pride in,” Celeste says. “But yes, we fought.”  
  
“Because she was pregnant?”  
  
“Yes,” she whispers and wipes at her cheek as a tear falls. “She was so young, barely eighteen. It wasn’t what I wanted for her, fought for her, but she was young and in love. It was enough that we never spoke again. And before I could make it right, before I could find her again, she… she was gone. I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but please, Credence, know that I am ashamed to have failed you both.”  
  
Credence shakes his head. “You couldn’t have known she was going to…” he trails off and sniffs. “My father?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Celeste says. “He was a Muggle and much older than she was. From my understanding, she told the hospital she birthed you in there was no father.”  
  
Abandoned her, likely, Graves thinks sourly, not wanting to take responsibility for his child.  
  
“Why did you think I was dead?” Credence asks. “Why did you never come looking?”  
  
There’s anger in the question and Celeste looks as if she expects it.  
  
“We did,” she says, something broken in her voice. “We tried for years.”  
  
Credence looks sharply at her, his lips parted, before he furrows his brow. “I know that my mother put me in the orphanage without a name, but you knew where she died.”  
  
“I did,” Celeste says. “But it was a hospital in Maine. We tried to follow her footsteps, from here to Maine, but she hid herself well. I imagine she lived as a Muggle, for the last few months of her life. But we searched so many orphanages for you, Credence, for any trace of you. After a few years, we couldn’t anymore, for the sake of our own children. We decided to wait.”  
  
When Credence frowns in confusion, Graves says, “To go to Ilvermorny.”  
  
Celeste nods at him and looks at Credence. “We knew you were likely to be enrolled there when you were eleven. So we waited until the year you would start there and we went, but they told us…” she stops abruptly, fresh tears falling, as Credence holds his breath.  
  
“That Credence was dead,” Graves says grimly.  
  
She nods, putting her hand over her mouth, closing her eyes.  
  
Credence looks between Celeste and Graves, eyes wide with loss, with confusion and heartache, and Graves reaches over, touching his knee.  
  
“I didn’t… I didn’t think about the letter,” he says. “That my— that she would have gotten. It would have had my real name?”  
  
Graves shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It’s old magic. You were never registered with MACUSA but wizarding schools have ways to find magical blood. It’s how no-maj-born witches and wizards are found.”  
  
“But then they would have known I was alive. What did she do, write back and tell them I was dead?” Credence asks Graves angrily. “How could they believe it?”  
  
“You weren’t raised in a wizarding household,” Graves says calmly. “Schools will send someone instead, a professor or the Headmaster or Headmistress, to deliver the letter. To walk no-maj parents through the discovery of their child’s wizarding blood. To walk them through the truth about our world, to prepare them for it, for when their child will go to school.”  
  
Credence is staring at him, wounded. “A wizard or witch came to the church,” he says slowly, “and she convinced them I was dead?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Credence,” Graves says. “They would have had very little reason to not believe her. The magic that finds witches and wizards finds them at their birth. Your existence was known at Ilvermorny the moment you were born, even without your name. No-maj-born children aren’t monitored during that time period, unless there’s a particularly strong use of magic that MACUSA detects. They wouldn’t have realized the truth.”  
  
 _“How?”_ Credence asks desperately. “How could wizards not know I was there the entire time? How could they have missed it?”  
  
Graves gazes at Credence, heart heavy in his chest, as fractured for him as Credence’s own heart is for the truth. “Mary Lou Barebone has been manipulating people and getting them to believe things so contrary to reality for her entire life. We aren’t all immune.”  
  
Credence flinches at these words and looks away, out of the window, at the bright day beyond. He’s angry, as he has every right to be, but his tears are what’s most painful to Graves.  
  
Graves looks at Celeste, silently crying herself, her mouth open in shock. She looks at him, looking for answers, looking for what Graves knows she is putting together about her nephew’s life.  
  
“Credence’s rights were denied to him by his adoptive mother,” Graves tells her. “We were not aware of it until two months ago. My department discovered Credence while investigating her.”  
  
“That’s how you two came to know each other,” Celeste says. “Was this in New York, where you work?”  
  
“Credence has been in Manhattan his entire life, yes.”  
  
“Oh, Credence,” Celeste whispers. “I am so, so sorry. I am so sorry you have been failed by all of us in such a way.”  
  
Credence abruptly stands, fists tight at his sides. “Can I—?”  
  
“Of course,” Celeste says, unnerved. “Whatever you’d like.”  
  
Graves watches him go, through the front door and outside once again. He thinks about following, but decides not to. Credence deserves some privacy.  
  
“What sort of woman… what sort of Muggle was he with?” Celeste asks angrily.  
  
“The kind that punished him dearly for being a wizard,” Graves says. “The kind that believes we plan an uprising someday.” He smiles thinly. “He was adopted at seven. He was raised alongside two sisters. One corrupted by their mother, the other like Credence. In more than one way.”  
  
“A witch?” Celeste asks and when Graves nods, she slumps back against the armchair. “We’ve missed her as well?”  
  
“She’s only eight,” Graves says. “Removed before Miss Barebone could get a second unwelcome surprise.”  
  
“A small consolation,” Celeste says bitterly, still angry. “Have you found her family?”  
  
“No-maj-born,” Graves says with a sigh. “We’re looking into finding ancestors, but she’s likely descended from a Squib and won’t have any living family members that aren’t no-majs.” He clears his throat. “I’ve taken them in for now.”  
  
Celeste’s eyebrows slowly raise. “Yourself, Mister Graves?”  
  
“I took them out of that home myself after witnessing what she planned to do to Credence. I suspected magical blood and confirmed it that night. It seemed only right to continue helping him and his sister.”  
  
“Thank Merlin for men like you then,” Celeste says. She shakes her head. “I should have kept looking for him.”  
  
“It isn’t your fault, Missus Prott. You couldn’t have known. You know what no-majs are capable of.”  
  
Celeste sighs and nods, conceding that point, at least. She looks at the front door, then Graves. “He’s so much more like his mother than he realizes,” she says quietly, pained.  
  
“I’m assuming similar circumstances are what caused you to come to America with your ten year old sister.”  
  
She nods, but she doesn’t expand on it, rightfully waiting for Credence for the rest of that conversation. They sip their tea for a while and Graves can tell that Celeste isn’t entirely comfortable with him, but he’s so used to that from the general population that he isn’t bothered by it.  
  
It’s not until there’s a _crack_ from somewhere further back in the house that he tenses.  
  
“My husband,” Celeste says. “He only works half days on Saturdays.”  
  
“I’m home!” a man’s voice calls, coming closer. “You will not believe what Mister Graytwig put on my desk this morning— oh.”  
  
Jet Prott has wandered into the living room and he stops, looking between Celeste and Graves in surprise and with some wariness. He’s a tall man, with strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across his face.  
  
“Has something happened?” he asks with forced calmness.  
  
“No, my love, nothing so worrisome,” Celeste reassures him. “Only a rather unexpected surprise.”  
  
Jet frowns at that but he approaches Graves and Graves stands, shaking his hand. “Mister Graves,” he says. “I must admit I never expected to see you in my living room.”  
  
“Most people don’t,” Graves says with a wry smile.  
  
Celeste stands from the armchair so her husband can sit and she Transfigures an end table into another chair for herself, so effortlessly that Graves doesn’t have to wonder where Credence gets it all from. She explains to her husband the reason for their visit and he is visibly shaken.  
  
“We’ve been mourning them both for twenty years now,” he says. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find him before the no-maj did.”  
  
“It’s unfortunate when anyone falls through the cracks,” Graves says. “But he’s made immense progress in the last two months, as has his sister. Excuse me.”  
  
They nod as he stands, deciding he’s left Credence to himself for long enough. He steps outside and breathes in the fresh, crisp air, glancing around for Credence.  
  
He isn’t hard to find, sitting on the snow in front of the rose bushes, one of the red flowers grasped in his hands, twisting it in circles by its stem.  
  
Graves walks to him and with a grimace, he sits in the snow next to him. He doesn’t say anything and it’s not until Credence gently leans against him that he wraps his arms around his shoulders.  
  
“Did you know all of this?” Credence asks, soft and young and wounded.  
  
“I knew that Mary Lou had likely convinced Ilvermorny of your unfortunate demise. It wouldn’t have been hard to believe, considering the war and pandemic,” Graves says. “But I didn’t know your family had been looking for you because I didn’t know what had gone on between your mother and her sister. I’m sorry, Credence, that we couldn’t have helped you much earlier on.”  
  
Credence shrugs. “I wouldn’t have met Modesty or you if they had found me at Ilvermorny,” he says simply.  
  
Graves wonders how he might feel about it, in Credence’s position. If knowing and living with his family, his blood who loved him, would have been more important, or if the family found along the way would be enough to make up for it. It’s a hard answer to come to, almost impossible, but knowing what he does, he would have preferred Credence to grow up the way he should have.  
  
Even if it had meant they would never likely cross paths.  
  
“I’m sorry for leaving like that.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Graves says firmly. “Anyone would need fresh air after that. We’ll go back when you’re ready, which doesn’t have to be today.”  
  
Credence shakes his head. “I don’t want to put it off. I don’t know if I would be able to come back if I did,” he says. “I want to know more about my mother and my family. Even if… even if it’s bad.”  
  
Graves squeezes Credence against him and brushes a kiss against his forehead. “Do you mind if we stand? My ass is frozen.”  
  
Credence laughs and nods, taking Graves’ hands when he stands and offers them. Graves dries Credence with a quick spell and does the same for himself as he tells Credence that Celeste’s husband has come home.  
  
They knock on the door and Jet answers, ushering them inside.  
  
“It’s good to meet you, young man, even if the circumstances aren’t what we had hoped for,” Jet says as he shakes Credence’s hand.  
  
Credence nods and thanks him quietly. They sit back on the sofa and after more tea is served, Credence asks about his cousins.  
  
“Our oldest is just a year younger than you,” Celeste says with a pained smile. “Sullivan, named after your great-grandfather. Our daughter, Ivy, is in her seventh year at Ilvermorny. I understand if you choose not to, but I know that one day they would very much like to meet you.”  
  
“No… I would like to meet them too,” Credence says. “I want to… I want to know more about my family. I didn’t think I had one for all of my life. If you don’t mind.”  
  
Celeste’s eyes soften. “Of course, dear,” she says. “We looked for you because we wanted you to be a part of our lives. We would still like that. Ask us anything. Ask me anything you’d like.”  
  
Credence nods, looking a bit overwhelmed. “Thank you,” he says and chews on his lip. “Mister Graves said that you came here with my… my mother when she was ten years old.”  
  
“Yes,” Celeste says with a soft sigh. She smiles faintly as Jet reaches over to grasp her shoulder. “I was only seventeen myself. I had just left Hogwarts. I had been planning it for a few years at that point. I understand, Credence, the pain of a mother who punishes you for things outside of your control. For us, it was our stepmother. Our mother died giving birth to Cassie, you see. Father remarried some years later and she was… not an ideal woman to be raising children.”  
  
Credence looks a bit green at that, understanding it all too well, and he looks down at his hands, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“As am I,” Celeste says. “It was unfortunate. She had a particular dislike for Cassie, for her frailty, her sensitivity. She saw her as weak in body and mind, though my sister was not weak in mind at all. The day she told her that it was her fault our mother died was the day I knew I had to get us out of there. I had to get Cassie out of there.”  
  
“Why did your father let it go on?” Credence asks as he looks at her.  
  
“If anyone was weak in mind, it would be our father,” Celeste says with a thin smile. “I don’t blame him for all of it. Losing our mother changed him. He cared more for keeping the home quiet, even if the whispers carried venom.”  
  
“So you decided to escape and come to America.”  
  
“Our stepmother would have fought to have me arrested if we had stayed in Europe. Merely to have what she assumed to belong to her, not because she cared about Cassie in any way. So I chose America.”  
  
Graves knows the legalities behind that - rather, the illegalities of it - but he thinks it speaks volumes that neither of Celeste’s parents petitioned MACUSA to get involved. Allegations of abuse would carry more weight, if she felt the need to flee to another country. It would have cast a poor light on them if they were investigated by both MACUSA and the Ministry and deemed unfit to have Cassandra back.  
  
“Are they still alive?” Credence asks apprehensively, as if he doesn’t know if he’s crossing a line.  
  
“Certainly,” Celeste says. “But I have not spoken to either of them since I informed Father of my sister’s death. I have no interest in repairing the relationship with him, but if you ever wanted to seek him out, Credence, no one could blame you for it. I would support you, if you’d like to.”  
  
Credence frowns. “I don’t think I’m interested in that either, Missus Prott.”  
  
Celeste smiles. “Celeste, if you’d like.”  
  
“Celeste,” Credence says and manages a smile of his own. “Will you tell me more about our family? If it’s not too much trouble.”  
  
“Oh, my dear, I think you’re owed it,” Celeste says. “There are some members of the Wright family who carry stories far lighter than ours.”  
  
Graves catches Jet’s eye and he gestures for Graves to follow him. He’s reluctant to do so, but he thinks that perhaps Credence is owed some time alone with his family. He squeezes his shoulder and when Credence nods, he follows Jet into the kitchen, closing the door behind himself.  
  
“A drink, Mister Graves?” Jet asks as he opens a liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey.  
  
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Graves says with a wry smile.  
  
Jet chuckles and pours them each a glass of firewhiskey. Thankfully he doesn’t make any toasts beyond grimly holding up his glass and they drink.  
  
“Good of you to take the boy in,” Jet says. “And his sister. I imagine it can’t be easy, doing the job you do, and caring for Credence and his sister.”  
  
Graves knows where this conversation is heading and is annoyed by it, but he supposes, if he were in their shoes, he might be thinking the same thing.  
  
“Not that I think you’d be doing anything but a fine job,” Jet says carefully when Graves doesn’t answer. “But my boy is out there on his own now and I imagine Ivy will follow, once she’s done at Ilvermorny. We have the room here, for both of them, if you think they’d be comfortable with that.”  
  
“Credence is an adult,” Graves says flatly. “I don’t presume to speak for him. It’s no burden on me to help them. And they’re comfortable in my home,” he adds steely. “Their home.”  
  
Jet peers at him as he leans against the kitchen counter. “You care a great deal for them. Do you have children of your own?”  
  
“I never married,” Graves says.  
  
“Most Aurors don’t, from what I hear.”  
  
“Yes and no,” Graves says and sips on the whiskey. “Most don’t marry young because they marry their work first. When they’ve finished training and gotten used to their positions, they tend to marry as often as anyone else. I had greater aspirations than a family.” He pauses and smiles shortly. “No offense meant.”  
  
“None taken,” Jet says mildly. “We’re far removed from what happens at MACUSA. The branch here is small and Virginia is a quiet state as it is. A good place to raise children.”  
  
Graves idly wonders if Jet Prott would be as offended as Credence was to have a Sponge-Knee Curse placed on him. “Credence and Modesty seem to enjoy New York.”  
  
“Well, it’s all they’ve known,” Jet says agreeably. He smiles, vaguely amused. “I’m not trying to steal them out from under you, Mister Graves. Credence is an adult, as you said, but don’t you think the choice should be given to him?”  
  
Graves observes Jet and sees him for who he is.  
  
A concerned uncle.  
  
“It should, yes,” he says and smiles to himself, amused not by Jet Prott, but by the reaction he knows Credence will have to such an offer. “You’re more than welcome to offer it to him.”  
  
They sit at the dining table after that and talk about more benign things, mostly their respective jobs, Jet’s children, Credence’s progress through the wizarding world, both in schooling and in work. Jet doesn’t ask about any cases beyond the mention of being glad there are people like Graves to stop people like the Ashe brothers, something Graves hears often enough.  
  
They don’t pry into the conversation going on in the living room. They will both hear from their partners about that - and doesn’t that give Graves a little thrill, to think of Credence as his partner - and they deserve to get to know each other in private.  
  
It’s not for an hour or so before Celeste opens the door into the kitchen. She raises her eyebrows as she looks between them glaring at each other. “Please tell me you haven’t been telling Mister Graves your opinion on the International Confederation of Wizards.”  
  
“I’m only pointing out the injustice—”  
  
 _“Jet.”_  
  
“He’s very passionate about it,” Graves says with a smirk.  
  
“I think it’s fair to say we both are. If looks could kill—”  
  
“Jet!” Celeste hisses at him, but she’s laughing. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but dry. “Stop harassing the Director of Magical Security in our kitchen. I’m sorry, Mister Graves.” She sighs and smiles. “I think I’ve rather overwhelmed Credence for the day.”  
  
Graves smiles. “I imagine you’ve also given him a gift he’s never had,” he says as he stands.  
  
“I do hope so,” Celeste says. “I hope to see him again soon. Both of you. You’re welcome any time, Mister Graves. Thank you for what you’ve done for him.”  
  
He supposes it’s going to be another day full of surprises when he and Credence walk through their front door hand in hand.  
  
“It’s been my pleasure. Thank you, Missus Prott.”  
  
They walk back into the living room and Graves sees that Credence is still sitting on the sofa, with a photo album and a small box on his lap. He stands when he sees Graves and the smile he gives him is a bit wobbly, but it’s relieved all the same, and it warms Graves’ heart.  
  
He’s happy for Credence, for him to have this in his life. For the answers he’s been given, for the opportunity to have a chance to heal another part of himself, in some way. Credence deserves warmth and kindness, he deserves for his soul, as broken as it is, to begin to repair itself.  
  
Graves can only hope that he will get to watch it continue, if he’s lucky enough.  
  
“Ready?” he asks quietly.  
  
Credence nods. “Yes,” he says and looks at his aunt and uncle. “Thank you. Thank you, both, for… for all of it. Thank you.”  
  
Celeste is more than a head smaller than Credence but she enfolds him in her arms anyway and he squeezes her tightly. His eyes are bright again, when he pulls back, and shakes Jet’s hand as he sniffs.  
  
They make promises to see each other soon and once Graves is sure Credence has a tight hold on himself and the items he’s carrying, he nods his thanks to the Protts, and Disapparates out of their living room.  
  
With a _crack,_ they’re in the alley between their apartment building and the next, and Graves rubs Credence’s back as he dry heaves a few times.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
Credence nods as he wipes his mouth and stands straight. “Yes,” he sighs. “Yes, I think I am.”  
  
They take the lift upstairs and enter the quiet apartment. Graves asks if Credence is ready to eat, but the soft plea, to just sit with him for a while, makes him ache.  
  
Credence may be alright, but it’s still so much to process.  
  
Graves holds Credence on the sofa and listens to him shed the tears he needs to, listens to him mention things Celeste had told him about their family, listens to the joy, the apprehension, the relief and the wariness in his voice.  
  
When Henry leaps onto the sofa, they both try not to make any sudden movements, but the Kneazle merely shoves himself onto Credence’s lap and lays down, purring loudly and giving Graves an approving look before he curls up and closes his eyes. Credence tentatively pats him on the head and looks at Graves with his eyebrows raised.  
  
“Another successful day in the books, I’d say,” Graves declares and smiles as Credence laughs.  
  
And he thinks he can do nothing else but kiss Credence after that and hopes that he understands that it means _I’m proud of you, I’m happy for you, you deserve this,_ and more, more than he cannot say, but he hopes Credence understands all the same.  
  
——  
  
Credence doesn’t ask to visit his family again for another two weeks.  
  
Graves has watched him spend those two weeks immersed in the photo album, in the small items from his mother’s childhood that Celeste had given him, a stuffed bear and a handmade doll, and various little trinkets she had picked up throughout her adolescence. The pictures he can spend hours looking at, tracing his mother’s smiling face, in what few pictures she’s smiling in.  
  
Credence does look incredibly like her, but the strong jaw must come from his father. He doesn’t mention him, doesn’t speculate about him or even his grandfather, and Graves is glad for it. He thinks Credence is better off not knowing people who have caused such pain to his mother, who likely contributed to her death.  
  
Modesty is interested in Credence’s family and listens to him gently tell her the stories that Celeste had told him and she listens with a smile. She is happy for her brother and Graves is worried she’ll begin asking questions about her own family, but he’s spared that, for the moment.  
  
One day Graves knows that Credence will visit the Prott family alone. Whenever he passes his Apparition exam - something Graves decides they should be practicing as frequently as everything else - he will be free to come and go as he wishes.  
  
Graves is still immensely busy and while Credence is as well, with his studies, he does have slightly more free time and Graves won’t blame him for wishing to spend it with his family.  
  
They go on another Saturday afternoon, when they suspect Jet will be home, and are invited in warmly.  
  
There’s still some awkwardness, which will ease in time, and sometimes the conversation is stilted, both Credence and his aunt having trouble accepting what he has gone through in his life. But Graves tells them how far he’s come, how good he is with magic, with Defense and Potions and Transfiguration, and Celeste tells him where he gets it from throughout his family.  
  
They eat lunch and Credence hears about his cousins in more detail. He seems eager to know as much about them as he can and Graves thinks it must be to know what it’s like for them, both so close to him in age, to have lived a normal life.  
  
He doesn’t think it will affect their relationship - Credence is too perceptive, too understanding of human nature for it, with a true kindness and grace in his heart that Mary Lou Barebone couldn’t reach, couldn’t snuff out.  
  
Graves plays Wizard’s Chess with Jet, something they both seem to have grown up on, and Graves wonders if Jet thinks about cursing him as much as Graves thinks about cursing Jet.  
  
“What on earth were you thinking, man?!” the King shouts, after his Queen was thoroughly checked, waving his fist. “Should’ve seen it coming from a mile away!”  
  
“Embarrassing,” a Knight agrees.  
  
“Keep it up and see I don’t replace you,” Jet says with a scowl.  
  
“Replace your grandfather’s board? Hah, I think not, old chap!”  
  
Graves smirks as he leans back in the chair, hands behind his head. “Best out of six?”  
  
Jet sighs as he narrows his eyes. “Fine,” he says and when his chess pieces groan, he shakes his finger at them. “I’ll put a silencing charm on you all.”  
  
The kitchen door opens and Celeste steps in, her tea tray in hand. She rolls her eyes. “Are you two still playing?” she asks. “Come join us, if you feel like acting civilized.”  
  
“This is Wizard’s Chess, dear, there’s nothing civilized about it.”  
  
“Be that as it may, I’d like for you to join us.”  
  
Jet sighs but he nods and with a wave of his wand, the chess pieces repair themselves and the board is put away. “How good are you at Skittles?”  
  
Graves shrugs. “It might surprise you that I have exceptional aim,” he says as he stands.  
  
“Boys,” Celeste sighs as she refills the teapot.  
  
“Dueling then,” Jet says as they walk into the living room. “I was the top in my Defense class every year, you know.”  
  
“Mister Prott, I cannot impress upon you enough just how bad of an idea that is,” Graves says as he joins Credence on the sofa, who is looking warily between them.  
  
“I’ve won the Dueling Club so many times I don’t need to purchase any of my own drinks at the local tavern anymore,” Jet says proudly, puffing his chest out.  
  
Graves looks at Credence, who is hiding a smile behind his teacup, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve won all duels I’ve been a part of so far,” Graves says mildly as he looks at Jet. “They promoted me to Director for it.”  
  
“Enough, enough,” Celeste says as she brings the tray back out and sets it down, the teapot steaming and a plate of chocolate chip cookies next to it. “I think we have more important matters to discuss at the moment.”  
  
Jet raises his eyebrows at his wife and hums, nodding. “Of course, dear,” he says and takes a tea cup when it presents itself to him. “Something we’ve been thinking of for the last two weeks,” he tells Credence.  
  
Graves takes his cup and leans back, more than prepared for this conversation.  
  
Credence looks between Celeste and Jet, furrowing his brow, but his gaze is wary, something Graves never likes seeing on him.  
  
Once Celeste has made herself comfortable and sipped on her tea, as is the polite way of the English, she smiles at Credence.  
  
“We know you and your sister enjoy living with Mister Graves,” she says. “He must be an excellent teacher.”  
  
Credence stiffens next to Graves and Graves sips his tea casually, smiling between the Protts.  
  
“He is,” Credence says slowly. “I’m fortunate to be taught by him. I couldn’t ask for a better Defense teacher, in particular, but he’s good with everything.”  
  
“Of course he is, love, such an accomplished wizard,” Celeste says with a smile. “We are more than happy to see you continue your education with Mister Graves. But we thought… that perhaps, with two rooms free here at the moment… that we would offer them to you and your sister, if you’d like.”  
  
Credence stares between them and when Graves sees the tremble in his shoulders, he rests his hand over one until he begins to relax again.  
  
“Oh,” he says, his voice polite, but betraying the surprise he feels. “That’s kind of you both, for considering it. My sister and I are comfortable where we are. You’re my family, but Mister Graves is as well.”  
  
Their eyebrows raise at that, looking between Credence and Graves, and Graves wonders what they must think of it. He can’t blame them for their surprise, of course, but Credence has made it clear how he feels living with Graves, how Modesty feels with him, how they feel living in New York altogether.  
  
Credence has been with him from the very first moment he was freed from his prison and what is between them is new and evolving, but it began the first night, if Graves allows himself to realize it, like he occasionally does. But beyond that, Graves is the person he trusts the most, he is his closest friend and confidant, as he also is to Modesty.  
  
If there was nothing between Graves and Credence but mere friendship, it would be the same. Credence has only met these people and Graves hopes that they realize how much they’re asking of him, to trust strangers with his well being, the way he has before and been so utterly betrayed by them instead.  
  
“Of course,” Celeste says quietly with a glance at her husband. She’s smiling as she looks at Credence again. “Of course, love, he would be. We only thought… but perhaps it’s too soon.”  
  
“I truly appreciate it,” Credence says, but continues more firmly, “but I don’t plan on leaving Mister Graves’ home. Not for a while.”  
  
“A place of your own then, when the time comes?” Jet asks with a faint smile.  
  
Credence looks down at his tea. “Yes, something like that.”  
  
“He is twenty, dear,” Jet says as he smiles at his wife. “I was on my own two months out of Ilvermorny.”  
  
“Into that horrible rat’s nest above the newspaper printing shop,” Celeste says with a shake of her head. “A true first bungalow.”  
  
“From what I remember, you joined me in that rat’s nest quite a few— _oof,”_ Jet grunts as Celeste elbows him.  
  
Credence is smiling now, looking between his aunt and uncle, faintly amused. Faintly fond, even, and Graves is glad to see it. He expected Credence to firmly state where he feels he belongs, but it still warms his heart, to know that Credence considers him family.  
  
Not in the way that perhaps his aunt and uncle will be hoping for, but that’s something for future-Graves to think about.  
  
It’s an honor either way and he will have to find a way to tell Credence that.  
  
“The Easter holidays will be here shortly,” Celeste says as she smiles at Credence. “Ivy and Sullivan will be here. You are more than welcome to come. You, your sister, Mister Graves, if you have no plans already. Whatever you’re comfortable with, Credence.”  
  
Credence nods sheepishly. “Thank you, I’ll think about it and ask Modesty. She would do better meeting you before then,” he says. “But I would like to. I don’t think Mister Graves celebrates Easter.”  
  
Graves shrugs. “I might, if holidays didn’t see such an increase in heinous and unnatural crime,” he says, smiling shortly. “Credence wondered if he might write to you between visits.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Credence says and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. He hands it to Celeste. “That’s Mister Graves’ address. Please… please write to me, as well, if you’d like.”  
  
Celeste smiles warmly. “Of course, love. Owl post?” she asks Graves.  
  
“Yes,” he says. “Preferably a large owl.”  
  
Jet frowns. “Why’s that?”  
  
“Because I don’t trust the Kneazle who decided my home was his home with anything smaller than a Great Gray.”  
  
Jet winces in sympathy. “Yours, son?” he asks Credence.  
  
“My sister’s,” Credence says with a smile. “The owl that works in Mister Graves’ office was only able to ward him off with a threat display.”  
  
“Mhmm,” Graves hums. “Fainted the moment he was out of the room.”  
  
Credence laughs and Graves smiles, the sound a never ending delight to him. The way his eyes light up, crinkling at the sides, and the way he looks at Graves when he does it.  
  
They leave not long after that. Modesty is at the Rosewoods for the evening again, but the joy of having the apartment to themselves is simply too irresistible to not take advantage of.  
  
Graves doesn’t have to wonder why Credence is more clingy than usual - not that he minds, as he tends to cling now and then himself - but it does make it hard to finish dinner. The onions ward him off for a bit, but they brush their teeth and Graves supposes all bets are off then.  
  
Well, mostly.  
  
“Percival,” Credence says after he’s done biting Graves’ lower lip, his new favorite pastime, “I wanted to ask you something.”  
  
“This is an unfair time to ask me anything,” Graves says as he looks up at Credence, who is straddling his lap on the sofa, arms wrapped around his neck.  
  
Credence smiles, shrugging unabashedly. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?”  
  
Graves groans and thumps his head on Credence’s shoulder. “Slow, Credence, _slow._ That’s the opposite of slow.”  
  
“I didn’t say we had to _do_ anything,” Credence huffs, pulling back until he can look at Graves again. “Just sleep. While we have the morning to ourselves.”  
  
Graves eyes him suspiciously. “As long as you realize sleep is all that’s going to be happening.”  
  
Credence frowns. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, you know,” he says, mildly offended. “I just want to sleep next to you.”  
  
“Alright,” Graves says. “Fair enough. And I do know that, Mister Barebone, my apologies for sounding like I didn’t. I do, in fact, enjoy the idea of waking up next to you.”  
  
“Good,” Credence sighs, with a bit of relief. “Thank you.” He kisses Graves then, sweetly, before he pulls away too soon, far too soon. “I have one more request.”  
  
“Oh?” Graves asks with amusement. “What might that be?”  
  
“That, if you’re not going to call me by my first name, you call me by the last name I’m choosing to have. I want the other one gone. Forever, preferably.”  
  
Graves gazes at Credence warmly. “Mister Wright, then,” he says. “You’re right, that’s much be—”  
  
Credence kisses him again, more frantically, deeper, and they don’t do much talking after that. They go to bed eventually, when the moon is high in the sky, and Graves watches Credence crawl into bed, still in the warm winter pajamas purchased from Anita, his heart thumping heavily in his chest.  
  
He’s beautiful, curled up in Graves’ sheets, his eyes bright in the low light of the room, only lit by the moon shining in from the windows.  
  
Graves thinks that this is a new way he will remember Credence. The way that he remembers him first stepping into the apartment, eyes downcast, worried he was a burden. The way he sits curled up on the sofa, gazing out at the city lights which shine in his eyes, a small smile on his face. The way he looks sitting at the breakfast bar, chin in his hands, as he watches Graves cook, his eyes bright and thoughtful, holding something that Graves is too frightened to name aloud.  
  
He gets into bed and wonders when the last time he had anyone next to him. Years, he thinks, losing interest after so many reckless years in his youth and not ever feeling particularly romantic after he was promoted to Director.  
  
Trust in Credence Wright to burst into his life and change all of that.  
  
Graves kisses Credence’s forehead when he curls up against him and holds his hand as it rests on his chest. He looks up at the dark canopy of his bed and smiles.  
  
“Percival?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“For?”  
  
Credence looks at him then and smiles. “Everything.”  
  
And Graves can do nothing more than kiss him again and hopes that it says what he really means.  
  
 _I love you, I love you, I love you._  
  
——  
  
Credence passes his Apparition exam one month later.  
  
Graves, Queenie, Tina and Modesty, at her own insistence, take him out to dinner to celebrate after. They drink and eat and laugh and Graves watches Credence with a smile. It’s starting to become uncommon to see Credence without a smile of his own and rarer now to see him bending with the weight of the world.  
  
His shoulders are looser, his posture relaxed, and happiness blooms from him in a way that continually leaves Graves breathless.  
  
And, after a few Gigglewater shots, thanks to Queenie, Graves is sure he would have pissed himself laughing at watching Credence burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, if he wasn’t the designated Apparater for the evening. They all laugh, when Modesty asks to try it, and Graves reminds her that she’d look like Credence if she did, which seems to turn her off of it.  
  
Credence is red-faced and giggly without the Gigglewater’s help and Queenie is giggly listening to whatever giggly thoughts he has and Tina gapes between them and Graves and he can do nothing but shrug because that’s the man he loves, damnit.  
  
It becomes a weekly outing. Not necessarily the drinking, but dinner with the Goldsteins and the occasional addition of Fontaine and his wife, Eldora, a charming woman that knows how to curse in four different languages, including Mermish.  
  
Credence and Graves keep up with his studies and by the time Easter comes, Graves knows he will already be able to pass a HARE level Defense exam. Potions will take more time, as will Transfiguration, but he’s close enough with Charms as well. He never complains about his studies, but rather relishes them, and reads books far beyond those that are required through Ilvermorny.  
  
Graves meets with Seraphina just before the Easter holiday to let her know Credence’s progress and she’s impressed by it, but tells him to give himself some credit for it as well.  
  
He will do no such thing. He may have helped guide Credence but every ounce of the hard work belongs to him.  
  
She mentions that he looks happier these days, something he knows hasn’t gone unnoticed in his department, and muses that perhaps having people to love was never the horrible idea he had declared it to be in their first year at school.  
  
He can only agree with her.  
  
Modesty has made two visits with Credence to the Prott family, once with Graves there and the next not, as he leaves New York for a few days to visit California’s MACUSA branch when they request aid to track down dark wizards who are using their evenings to torture and kill no-majs.  
  
Credence has been sleeping in his bed more frequently, but the night that Graves comes home, he can’t fall asleep and trembles and traces the curves of Graves’ face, until Graves kisses him and whispers what he’s been too afraid to say against his lips.  
  
Easter at the Protts’ is an interesting affair. Credence meets his cousins, Sullivan, as tall as Credence, with dark hair and blue eyes and a friendly grin. Ivy, with her mother’s stature, but long strawberry-blonde hair and equally kind, blue eyes. They’re confident and happy and Graves watches Credence soak in their lives, soak in their stories about Ilvermorny, and smiles.  
  
The Protts treat Modesty as if she is their own, something Graves had expected, but is glad for all the same.  
  
It’s more alarming when they begin to treat _him_ as if he’s their own, cajoling him into every Easter activity that seems to have ever existed in their family. Whenever Jet is not challenging him to a variety of different things, anyway, and Graves is not accepting those challenges with competitive delight.  
  
Spring has settled in and the world blooms with life and Graves finds himself outside more often than he’s used to, taking Modesty to Central Park or to no-maj and wizarding shopping centers alike.  
  
In mid-June, Graves decides to take Credence and Modesty on their first camping trip.  
  
Graves sits at his desk, feet on top of it, as he scours through a report from Wilkinson on what is suspected werewolf activity in the lower east side. He looks up when he gets a memo and gestures at his office door until it opens with a bang.  
  
“Goldstein!”  
  
Tina appears a moment later, striding into his office. “Sir?”  
  
He grabs a file on his desk and tosses it to her. “I have a new assignment for you.”  
  
“Oh!” Tina says and sounds a bit confused. “Is it high priority?”  
  
“Higher than whatever else you’re working on at the moment,” Graves says and turns back to Wilkinson’s report. “I need you to go to Arizona. There’s a… magizoologist on the loose there. He’s been warned twice and fined once for some careless magic, which he insists was necessary due to… I don’t actually understand what in Merlin’s name he’s doing beyond studying the Thunderbirds out there.”  
  
“Hmm,” Tina hums. “Want me to suss him out?”  
  
“I do,” Graves says. “See if there’s more to him than they’re saying out there. Arrest him, if you need to. They say he’s harmless but you know how I feel about that word.”  
  
“Harmless until they aren’t,” Tina mutters dutifully. “Who am I going with?”  
  
“I think you can handle this one on your own, Goldstein.”  
  
Tina pauses and lowers the file to look at Graves, blinking at him.  
  
Graves opens a drawer and pulls out a Senior Auror Certification, sliding it across his desk toward her. Tina gasps and covers her mouth with her hand, staring down at her name written across the certification.  
  
“We’ll make it more official when you get back. Oh, don’t,” Graves groans as she hurries around his desk and throws her arms around his neck. “This is highly inappropriate,” he mutters, patting her on the shoulder until she releases him.  
  
“Thank you, sir! Thank you, Mister Graves, it’s an honor. Oh, Queenie is going to be so happy. I won’t let you down, sir.”  
  
“I know you won’t,” Graves says and smiles. “Get out of my office. Tell Fontaine I’m done until Monday.”  
  
“Taking a vacation, sir?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
Tina smiles and with one last squeal of happiness, she hurries out of his office and Fontaine lumbers in not long after. Graves lets him know where he’ll be and what to do if he needs him - which is to, kindly, fuck off - and locks up his office.  
  
He takes the lift down to the Wand Permit Office and walks in, his hands in his pockets. The witches and wizards who work there tend to still give him fearful glances, despite the fact that he’s been here numerous times by now to fetch Credence for lunch or a Defense lesson.  
  
“M—Mister Graves, sir!” Abernathy says as he leaps from his desk. “What an honor, of course.”  
  
“You keep saying that,” Graves says with a smile, all teeth. “I’ve never been so honored in my life.”  
  
He hears Queenie go into a coughing fit and pats her shoulder as he walks by her to Credence’s desk. Credence is giving him a look that Graves merely shrugs at as he leans against the desk.  
  
“You ready?”  
  
“Almost,” Credence says as he clears his desk off with a wave of his wand. “Modesty was so restless this morning, I can’t imagine what she’s putting Missus Hedge through.”  
  
“She’s going to have plenty of things to do to expend some of that energy,” Graves says with a smirk. “You both are.”  
  
Credence raises a suspicious eyebrow but Graves only smiles.  
  
“You three be careful out there, huh?” Queenie says. “I’m not sure Mister Graves knows which end of a log to light.”  
  
“I grew up in the middle of the woods in Maine, Miss Goldstein, I can fly fish you into tomorrow,” Graves says and smirks as she laughs.  
  
“Did you really, honey? You’re gonna have to tell us more about that.”  
  
“You really are,” Credence says. “Did you have wading boots custom made?”  
  
“Imported from Switzerland, maybe?” Queenie asks.  
  
“You’re both endlessly hilarious, but we’re following a strict schedule today,” Graves says. “Don’t get into too much trouble, Miss Goldstein.”  
  
Queenie grins. “Just a little, like always,” she says. “Bye, you two.”  
  
They leave the office and take the lift upstairs to pick up Modesty. Missus Hedge looks like she may cry with relief when they walk in and Modesty gasps with delight, running to meet them. Graves offers the poor woman a nod of sympathy before they’re off.  
  
They make one last stop at the apartment, so Graves can grab a large tote and double check all of the protections he has on both the apartment and the building. Modesty tells Henry it’s time to go and he purrs his approval. Graves can see Credence eyeing him now and then and merely smiles to himself as he leads them out of the apartment.  
  
Once he’s sure that Modesty has a good grip on Henry and Credence has a good grip on Modesty, he Disapparates out of the alley with them. Modesty has gone along with him and Credence a handful of times and handled it well enough and this time is no different.  
  
They appear with a _crack_ in a clearing in the woods, the air cool and fresh, clear and thick with the scent of pine. Just beyond the trees is Eagle Lake, the water still and beautiful, and Graves chuckles as Modesty gasps. She and Henry run toward the lake and her cheer of enthusiasm echoes across it.  
  
“Are we in Maine?” Credence asks as he smiles after his sister. “It’s beautiful.”  
  
“That we are. Eagle Lake,” Graves says and opens the tote. He pulls out a large mass of fabric and tosses it into the middle of the clearing. He catches Credence’s unsure gaze and raises his eyebrows. “You’re not impressed yet?”  
  
With a wave of his wand, the fabric comes to life and unfolds itself, stretching out into a tent large enough for three. Credence doesn’t seem to agree, but when Graves pulls the fabric entrance aside, he ducks inside.  
  
“Merlin.”  
  
“That’s more like it,” Graves says as he walks through the tent and points at different areas. “Your sister’s space. Yours. Mine. Well, ours, I’m sure, whenever Modesty isn’t looking.”  
  
Credence smiles as he gazes around in wonder at their lodgings, twenty times the size of what they looked from the outside, with numerous sections closed off by dividers, and a small kitchenette and dining table in the back.  
  
They change out of their professional attire into clothing that’s more comfortable, more suitable for the great outdoors, and exchange a few leisurely kisses until they hear Modesty outside complaining about the size of the tent.  
  
She is thoroughly impressed when she stomps inside and so is Henry, by the look of him, a few feathers stuck to his cheek already.  
  
“What’s that, Percy?”  
  
“Hmm?” Graves asks and looks at the dining table. “Ah, yes. That, my dear Modesty, is a gift for your brother.”  
  
“Open it, Credence!”  
  
Credence gives Graves a bit of a look but he wanders over and runs his hand along the long, thin package. After he’s opened it and peeled back the brown paper, he gapes down at the broomstick, looking between it and Graves.  
  
“Someone told me every young wizard should own one,” Graves says. “Still have Quidditch aspirations?”  
  
Credence laughs. “I suppose I’ll know after I’ve given it a try,” he says. “I’ve been told it’s harder to learn, as an adult.”  
  
“Possibly. We don’t bounce back as easily if we crash, do we?” Graves says with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, there are child protection spells on it.”  
  
Modesty snickers as Credence scoffs and pulls the broom free. He admires it for a while, the wood dark, sleek and polished to a sheen.  
  
“It’s beautiful, Percival. Thank you,” he says quietly and he smiles, warm and fond, and Graves wonders what his smile would look like, if he asked Credence to marry him.  
  
“Of course,” he says, instead, and they leave the tent.  
  
They walk through the woods until they come across a wide, sprawling meadow, good enough for the first lesson. Graves tells Credence and Modesty about brooms, how they’re made and charmed to fly at a witch or wizard’s command, how they’re used in a variety of ways.  
  
How they’re not _ever_ to be used.  
  
“Can he try now?” Modesty asks after a while with a sigh.  
  
Graves laughs. “It’s good to know this, you know,” he says, but he steps away. “Let’s see what he’s made of.”  
  
Credence huffs, but he steps next to the broom as he was instructed to do and says, “Up!”  
  
The broom flies straight into his hand and Graves nods in approval. He watches Credence mount the broom and give a kick off the ground and marvels at the difference six months can make. He knows that Credence would have been too nervous for this at the beginning, too nervous that he’d fail or too worried about Graves doing too much for him.  
  
Too nervous to use the magic inside of himself, to get to know it, be familiar with it and harness it.  
  
As he watches Credence fly around the meadow, the broom not letting him get any higher than the trees, he thinks that Credence could rule the world, if he wanted.  
  
Or, at least, become the President of MACUSA one day.  
  
But he thinks Credence’s aspirations aren’t quite that high. That he merely seems to be looking for contentment in his life and Graves is more than willing to help him with that. 

He watches Credence land with a lurch in front of them and topple off the broom, falling in a heap on the soft grass below.  
  
Modesty giggles. “Are you alright, Credence?”  
  
“Fine,” Credence says through a laugh, as he rolls onto his back, grinning up at the sky. “Just fine.”  
  
“When can I have one?” Modesty asks.  
  
“When you’ve finished your first year at Ilvermorny,” Graves says and smiles as she frowns. “You can ride with your brother until then.”  
  
“Maybe… when I figure out how to ride it myself first,” Credence says, shielding the sun from his eyes as he looks at his sister with a grin. “Here comes Henry.”  
  
Henry the Kneazle trots into the meadow, his silver fur shining brightly in the sun, his eyes molten gold. He checks Credence for any injury and headbutts him when he finds none. After a breeze has swept through, he’s distracted by dandelion seeds that have been blown from their stems, darting after them and leaping into the air to bat at them.  
  
Modesty laughs and runs off to join him.  
  
“When was the last time you were on a broom?” Credence asks.  
  
Graves sits next to him, lounging in the grass and narrows his eyes as he thinks about it. “We rarely need brooms in my department. A handful of years, at least. And I have no interest in flying them for leisure.”  
  
“Why not? That was… freeing,” Credence says with a carefree sigh. “I used to look out of my window and pretend I could fly away from it all. Actually being able to fly seems like something everyone would like.”  
  
Graves smiles as he watches Credence, surrounded by yellow-green grass, in a soft cotton shirt, joyful and stunningly beautiful. Speaking about his past without flinching away from it is a step Graves had hoped he would get to, when he first met him. They’ve all been gentle steps, he thinks, steps Credence might not have noticed himself easing into.  
  
“I prefer Apparition myself but I can see why it’s fitting for you,” Graves says. “We’ll come out here whenever you feel the urge. Or wherever you might want to fly.”  
  
Credence smiles as he looks up at Graves. “Sometimes I still have a hard time believing I deserve any of what you give me. You give me so much.”  
  
“What I give to you, Credence, you give back to me tenfold.”  
  
Credence’s cheeks turn pink and his eyes dart away even while his smile grows. “Still,” he says softly.  
  
Graves rests his hand on Credence’s cheek. “You deserve everything, Credence. I don’t know how anyone could have ever looked at you and decided otherwise.”  
  
The way Credence looks at him then, gaze full of love and passion and adoration, takes his breath away. Credence will always take his breath away, he knows, and he’s fine with that, will always welcome it. He doesn’t know what the future holds for either of them, but here, now, it’s enough.  
  
Credence sits up so he can put an arm around Graves’ back and lean his head on his shoulder. Graves squeezes him gently and smiles as he looks up at the clear blue sky, this area so familiar to him, and where he will make better memories of his own.  
  
“Are you ever going to kiss?”  
  
They stiffen and glance at each other before slowly pulling apart and looking at Modesty.  
  
She’s sitting in the grass, picking dandelions and blowing away their seeds, as Henry watches, his golden eyes following them with interest. She frowns as she sees them gaping at her.  
  
“Well, _are you?”_  
  
Graves blinks as he looks at Credence, whose eyebrows are raised. “Well, if that’s what the little lady wants,” he says and grins as Credence laughs.  
  
So they kiss, and they keep kissing until Modesty giggles and howls, “Okaaay, stop!”  
  
“How long have you been waiting to ask that?” Credence asks as he laughs and looks at his sister.  
  
Modesty shrugs and scratches Henry behind the ears. “You stare at each other the way Mister and Missus Hedge do, when he comes in to give her lunch.”  
  
Graves would like to think he was better at hiding it than that, but he supposes he’ll have to accept that he’s too head over heels for it. He clears his throat. “And how do you feel about that?”  
  
Modesty frowns at him, as if she doesn’t quite understand the point of the question. “Credence told me that the things we learned before were wrong. He said that witches and wizards had it right and that if you love someone, it’s okay, because love is the purest thing you can feel and it can’t be wrong. So if you love each other, then it’s okay,” she says as she tilts her head to the side. “It makes me happy.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it,” Graves says softly, his heart fuller than it was only a moment ago. “Your brother is a wise man.”  
  
She smiles and nods in cheerful agreement, laying back in the grass.  
  
And that is that, Graves supposes, to an eight year old. Love is easier to understand and accept, age and experience not yet taking away the simple, innocent understanding that when two people love each other, it is simply okay, and something to be happy about.  
  
Graves sees the brightness in Credence’s eyes and knows it doesn’t come from sorrow or heartache. It comes from the love of his sister, her words healing something inside. It comes from understanding, with age and experience, that love may not be easy, but it’s powerful, capable of healing deep hurts, and capable of moving mountains, and that it is, in the end, simply okay.  
  
It is something to celebrate and as Graves gazes at Credence and Credence gazes back, he knows he is prepared to celebrate it for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I..... wrote this.... in eleven days.....
> 
> WHEW! Gradence has hit me hard, my second fic for them in less than two weeks! I think I'm a couple years too late, but I'm thoroughly enjoying exploring these two babes. I also haven't written something this long and finished it in years, so I feel pretty accomplished.
> 
> Please forgive any mistakes, I'll eventually find them. But I hope you enjoyed this fic and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments and kudos mean a lot!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to the best friend I could ever ask for [Erin](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire)!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro) (send me a DM on tumblr for the Gradence discord server I've made!)


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